Through Your Eyes
by The Raven Dark Angel
Summary: HE hates her, SHE hates him, and yet a bizarre happening pulls them both together with an attraction that is impossible to deny. What do they do? Complications galore!DracoOCHarry LOTR X-over
1. Beginnings

Disclaimer: Drusilla, Morwen, Samuel, and Jessica belong to me. The rest do not. 

__

Look at the sky tell me what do you see

Just close your eyes and describe it to me

The heavens are sparkling with starlight tonight

That's what I see through your eyes

I see the heavens each time that you smile

I hear your heartbeat just go on for miles

And suddenly I know why life is worthwhile

That's what I see through your eyes

That's what I see through your eyes

Here in the night, I see the sun

Here in the dark, our two hearts are one

Its out of our hands, we can't stop what we have begun

And love just took me by surprise, looking through your eyes

I see a night I wish could last forever

I see a world we're meant to see together

And it is so much more than I remember

More than I remember

More than I have known

Here in the night, I see the sun

Here in the dark, our two hearts are one

Its out of our hands, we can't stop what we have begun

And love just took me by surprise, looking through your eyes

Looking through your eyes

Drusilla held onto the reins with practiced ease of the horse as it galloped across the wide expanse of lush green plains stretched out for the entire world to see. She felt the faint warmth of the creature beneath her, as the reins were the only accessories for it. Drusilla had always vastly preferred wild horses, because when they sped across the lands, they bestowed upon her the thrilling sense of freedom she had craved.

Well, she figured that it was pretty good, since her parents had long disowned her two years ago upon her entrance into Gryffindor House and befriending Harry Potter in Hogwarts. She supposed they had valid reason, because her father's side of the family had all been Slytherins and they hated Harry like crazy…Her mother? Well, her mother was not exactly on the side of angels too, to put it very mildly. It did not bother her-well, maybe a little, but a _very _little-that the reason her mother married her father was to produce an offspring that was both very well-versed in magic _and _had the ability to live forever without growing old whatsoever so that they could take over the world through her. 

Yes, her mother was an Elf. An elf from Middle-Earth. Morwen, to be exact. All Drusilla knew was that she was Sauron's-whoever it was-daughter, and was determined to somehow join both worlds together and the rest was not so clear, but Drusilla was shrewd enough to know that Morwen was set to topple Voldemort and take over this world and Middle-Earth when Sauron got back his ring. 

__

His ring. She thought, and she couldn't help but snort at the ridiculousness of it all. A little gold band had contained her grandfather's-so to speak-essence and most of his power. Once he had it, he would then be able to rule the world, to put everything in a nutshell. Which she figured would not be good for the free peoples of those lands. If her mother and heritage was anything to come by, those poor people would be suffering horribly under Sauron's rule. She closed her eyes and forced out a pang of guilt. Her father was a highly regarded Death Eater, his powers matched only by his cruelty and his thirst for Muggle blood. Despite the warm clothes she had on, she felt a cold, icy thrill course through her body at her father's unfeeling, cold eyes. Samuel Fontaine reminded her so much of a poisonous cobra sometimes. Since she was young, he had made her learn, allowing no room for mistake or failure. He always seemed furious at Mother, and she knew why. 

Mother had refused to bind herself to him, to turn her back on her people and forsake her immortality. According to Mother, she had not planned on wasting all her lifetimes with "this pathetic rubbish". 

There was no love lost between them, and Drusilla figured that it was a purely business deal, but how _that_ kind of deal could come to pass without either of them falling in love with each other was totally beyond her. But then it wasn't her place now to care, was it? They had disinherited her, saying that she was a shame to the family, all because she had saved Harry Potter and his friends from Voldemort on more than a few occasions and had allowed herself to be close to them. "Going soft," were her mother's exact, disgusted words when Drusilla had thrown off the weight of responsibility to her family and decided to do what she wanted to do, not what her parents expected her to do. 

It was the first semblance of warmth that she'd ever experienced from Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and she never wanted to let go. Not for her family, not for anyone. They had made her feel so accepted, feel like one of them despite the nature of the blood that coursed through her veins. 

They loved her. 

Drusilla could see the truth clearly when Hermione's parents decided to take her in, too, after Hermione begged them for goodness knew how long. She had been totally embarrassed at first, but had recognized this as a sign that she really wanted to help, and Drusilla could not possibly stay in Hogwarts for the summer, could she? Touched by the sincerity of the Granger family, she had moved in with them. 

Unfortunately, for the first few days, the transition had been chaotic. Drusilla knew absolutely nothing about using Muggle items to pass the day, and it was very difficult for her, even with Hermione's ever-ready help. But even that passed, and she now held a deep-rooted fascination to the Muggle item they called an eggbeater. She would purposefully hang around in the kitchen if Mrs. Granger, whom she now called Mom--not Mother, because it was only reserved for Morwen, and using that name gave her bad memories--planned on making cake or some other kind of Muggle food that needed egg for the sole purpose that she could then volunteer to "beat" the egg. 

It was fun, watching the whites and the yolk of the egg mix together within the vigorous spin of the contraption, and Mom seemed thoroughly amused at the ecstatic glee she showed on her face whenever she touched that Muggle artifact. It was fun, really. What was so wrong about Muggles? They were a fascinating species, and she grew to love them, since she found something new to learn every day. 

Oh, and Ducky. She would never, never forget Ducky, a yellow rubber duck that made a sick wheezing sound whenever you pressed on it too hard. She loved him too. Truly, away from the Fontaine House, where every thing you did was a calculated move, every smile you wore was false, and the air in the room was freezing, totally without human warmth, Drusilla did not miss them at all. 

In fact, with the death of Voldemort and all, it was pretty easy to see where the Fontaine House and her father was headed. The last she heard, her mother had packed and gone back to Middle-Earth, furious and shaking with rage. It was then very lucky for her that Dumbledore had performed the Fidelious Charm on her, rendering her invisible to her mother and father, so that they could not possibly find her and drag her back home, with alot of pain mixed in the equation. Well, it was mostly her mother, since her father was in Azkaban right about now, along with Malfoy's father and a whole bunch of the Slytherin students' parents. 

It would not really be a surprise for her mother to drag her back, since she had made it clear on several painful occasions that she did not care a bit about her, and only cared about what she could_ do_ for her. 

Which was nothing. She would never, never do anything for either her parents anymore. 

Briefly, she lifted a hand from the reins and touched the cold crystalline pendant at her neck. This was the seal of her immortality, proof that she had the blood of an Elf from Middle-Earth. The pendant was a shimmering crystal that glinted in several colours against the light, flanked by two delicate snakes, giving the pendant an intricate design. 

It really was a pretty thing. 

"Noroavorn, muin Aeglos!"Ride faster, dear Aeglos! she whispered to her horse, automatically switching back to her mother tongue,-- Sindarin, the language of the Elves-- as she stroked its shock of white mane lovingly. "Norove' tel'sul!"Ride like the wind! 

The horse whinnied in eager response, and the wind whipped harder against her face, almost stinging her with its sharpness. Drusilla's heart beat faster, and she couldn't resist a cry of delight at the sense of flying, of freedom. Nothing could beat this! Her hair tugged gently at her scalp, streaming, mingling with the sharp wind. It made her feel as light as a feather, made her forget everything bad that had happened to her...

She was free. 

***

"Goodness! What happened to you?" Daphne Granger exclaimed at the sight of a muddied Drusilla entering the house, her hair uncharacteristically messed beyond belief, and her face hidden beneath mud. She could barely make out a bright grin from underneath the muck.

"Gone riding, I suppose?" Charles Granger chuckled from behind his evening paper, then frowned. "You'd better take a long, hot bath, Dru, before your Mom throws another fit with you soiling the house and everything." 

"Sure." she already felt very comfortable with the Grangers and had accepted them as her foster parents as readily as they accepted her as their foster daughter. For Muggle dentists, they were exceptionally warm and friendly. "What's for dinner?" 

Her foster mother was already horrified at the dark brown spot coupled with bits of grass on the carpet. She snapped to her senses at that question and hurriedly pushed Drusilla towards the staircase. "Do go and clean yourself, dear, you're shedding all over the floor!" she put her head in her hands and gave out a long-suffering sigh. "And here goes another prized carpet."

***

It was a good half-hour before Drusilla deemed herself clean enough to go down to the table. Mom and Dad were very particular about cleanliness in the house. Quickly making herself look neat and presentable--no matter how much she liked the Grangers and vice versa, she would always pride herself on looking neat and tidy as a mark that she was, like them, a very civilized person--she hurried down the stairs. 

Drusilla was greeted by the sight of Dad, Mom, and Hermione seated at the table, conversing with each other warmly and laughing. They apparently did not see her enter, and she watched silently at the perfection of the family. It was warm and loving, nothing could go wrong. She saw the look in both the older Grangers' eyes when they gazed at Hermione that she had not seen when they looked at her. Of course, she could not blame them, they were not her real parents, after all, but even that did not stop a pang of deep sadness and envy when she saw the three of them simply sitting together. 

"Oh, Dru!" Hermione caught sight of her and flashed her a megawatt smile. Drusilla returned the grin, feeling all her unease melt away in that moment. That was what Hermione's warm, friendly smile could do to you. She made you feel accepted.

"Hey, sorry I'm a little late for dinner." She sat down. 

"You're here at last," Mom smiled as she scooped a few spoonfuls of whipped potato onto Drusilla's plate. "Hermione was just wondering if you'd drowned." 

Drusilla couldn't help but grin. Hermione was one with the overreaction all right. "Drown?" 

"You went horse riding again today?" Hermione asked her, changing the subject. She shook her head in disapproval when the other girl's reply was affirmative. "You shouldn't ride those unbroken horses, you know. They might trample you to the ground and kill you if you get too near." 

"Oh, don't you worry," she replied easily, cutting through her vegetables. "I'm a born natural with horses, they love me. Witness my not dying yet." 

"Still, you should be careful, you know." Dad replied, trying and failing to hide an amused smirk. "I mean, what with you dragging half the field in with you whenever you come back from a hectic day at "work" and all. You're driving Mom quite crazy." 

At this, they all chuckled, including Drusilla, who was thankful for family dinners like this, where they seemed to comfort her, if anything, that she was a part of the family too. 

"Have you girls packed your things for school yet?" Mom asked, a speared piece of steak halfway to her mouth.

"I can't believe you had to ask, Mom. I've already packed it last month!" Hermione told her, with a hint of impatience. "Remember?" 

Drusilla stared at her in abject horror. "Last month?" She was never going to get used to that girl's odd habits. She'd just finished packing her own stuff just last night, and already she thought it was a slight over-eagerness on her part. But LAST MONTH?!? No wonder Herm was so calm about everything when she'd been in a hassle last night looking for her things. 

The girl turned a shade of colour that Drusilla was about to say really did not match her hair or her outfit in the least, but was forced to keep her mouth clamped shut when she realized that Herm was just overeager to see Ron again. 

The two had been at it last year, going out to Hogsmeade on their own and leaving her and Harry to wander around by themselves--not that it wasn't any fun. Harry was a very decent guy, and funny too--while they did things that she really did not want to know about. 

__

And there was that night when Herm did not go back to her bed at all and the day after that, and that afternoon two days later... her mind pointed out. 

She stared at Hermione knowingly, and was rewarded by the look of embarrassment on her features. _God knew what she did with Ron..._

"Well, it's good to be prepared." Mom said, looking a little surprised herself. Then she looked at Drusilla. "And you, dear? I hope you have packed all your things, too." 

She nodded. "Just last night. I'm not as ah, eager as Herm to get to school." she grinned and helped herself to another serving of potatoes. 

"Ahh," Dad realized, his smirk going larger. "Are you hiding something from me, girls?" 

"No, Dad, really!" Hermione stepped in hastily, her cheeks burning. "It's nothing. I'm just looking forward to this year, that's all." 

"Me, too." Drusilla conceded, apparently thinking that it was high time to help bail her best friend-cum-foster sister out. "It's been a while since we've seen Harry and Ron, don't you think?" She then winked. It was the first time morally-superior Hermione looked so uncomfortable, after all, and since it was a rare chance, albeit once in a lifetime, she decided to take it. 

"Ah, the wonders of being in love. I remember when I was young, there was so many girls after me that I--" Dad sighed dreamily, then yelped as 

Mom whacked him on his arm, an expression of mock anger on her pretty face. 

"Don't you say that I chased you, Charles Granger!" she said, her voice falsely threatening. 

"Ooh, feisty!" 

Hermione rolled her eyes at the both of them as they continued that playful banter, obviously lost in whatever era they came from, and turned to an amused Drusilla. "I hate it when they do that." 

"Oh, don't worry. You'll get your turn one day." she said, a little off-handedly, even more amused at the horrified look Hermione gave her. This was fun, she didn't even knew Hermione was so touchy about her relationship when Ron around her parents!

**

"Oi!" came a sudden shout that made Drusilla's eyes fly open in fright. What was wrong? was the first thought that came to mind before her sleep-filled brain registered Ron's grinning, freckled face not too far away from her. Before she could say anything, a familiar, handsome face popped into her foggy vision. Harry. He was sporting the same annoyingly bright smile that was on Ron's face, and she swore that if their smiles were any wider, their faces would crack open like a coconut. 

Wait...this was not Hogwarts, she remembered. At least not yet. So what were they--? She bolted awake, all traces of sleep vanishing as she stared at them in amazement. "Harry? Ron? What are the two of you doing here?" 

"We were bored down at the Burrow, so me and Harry decided to come pay you girls a visit. Good to see you again, Dru." Ron grinned rakishly. 

"To quote a certain someone, you look very sweet when you're asleep."

"Ron!" Harry burst out, his face pink with embarrassment before Drusilla knew what was going on. She was wide awake now, albeit a little slow when it came to the brain department after being scared to death. Well, scared awake was more like it. 

"Uh?" she frowned. 

"Well now!" Ron beamed, standing up and heading for the door. "I'll look for my Hermione now, so, people, don't disturb!" he waggled a finger at them and jovially bounced out of the room. 

Drusilla stared after him in reluctant admiration, the earlier remark made from Harry clean forgotten. "How does he manage to do that so early in the morning?" 

"He hadn't seen Hermione for weeks," Harry grinned, running a hand through his hair, untidy as ever as his startling blue-green eyes twinkled merrily. "You'd be surprised at what love would do to you. Apparently, sending love letters and almost killing their house owl was not enough for them." 

She smiled back at him. Truly, Harry was a very nice guy, and was able to make one feel very comfortable around him. His smile was infectious, of course, as was the present delight in his eyes, for whatever reason she did not know. But it was a very good thing, since he had not really smiled like that since the unfortunate death of Cedric Diggory. "Oh, I get it pretty much all the time around her, all right. We'd talk, alone in our room, when she would suddenly just have this _look_ in her eye before going onto an hour long rant about Ron and how amazing he was." she shook her head. "I never really got to perfect the art of escaping in the nick of time before I became Counsellor." 

He laughed, a very pleasant and clear sound that never failed to lighten her heart. It was as if whenever Harry was around, she had the feeling that nothing bad would happen. 

Strange. But vaguely pleasant. They were good friends, after all, if not best friends. 

"It's really good to see you again, Drusilla." he said softly, his eyes shining with joy. Drusilla couldn't help but chuckle. His happiness was so...catchy sometimes. 

"It's good to see you again, too." she replied honestly. "Have you eaten your breakfast yet?" 

"No," he replied. "We came here at the crack of dawn." 

"I suppose we girls should be touched, then," then her hand flew to her hair. "Oh, no. I look a mess!" she looked at him accusingly. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Tell you what?" 

"My hair's a horrible thing to deal with in the morning," she replied, a little irritably as she reached for her brush at the side of her bed. Why had she forgotten to comb her hair first thing in the morning? Now Ron and Harry had seen her at her worst! Her hair, normally slightly curled at the top and framing her face with normally well-defined ringlets, giving her an almost Victorian look, was now extremely horrible and unkempt. She could feel them sticking out in an unruly manner, and she furiously tried to brush them back into an acceptable shape, which was no easy feat, considering the hideous amount of tangles her brush kept tugging against. Not to mention the ghastly sight she was giving Harry. 

This was so embarrassing. 

Harry turned a faint shade of pink again, for some unfathomable reason. "I don't know. You still look very nice." 

"Of course you would say that," she replied, a little calmer now that it was more or less in place. Or rather, less of a Hermione-like mane. "You're my friend." she looked at the clock of the wall, then got out of bed. "Come on, let's go get breakfast. I'm rather hungry." 

"Want to call Ron and Hermione?" 

"You think?" 

"Nevermind." 

"You won't believe how freaked Hermione was when Mom and Dad were so close to finding out about Ron and her. Not that they would mind, though." she paused. "Go on down, Harry. I need to wash up." 

***

The cold water served to wake her up all the way, albeit a little unpleasant at first. She turned off the tap, and glanced at herself in the mirror. Not too bad. Self-consciously, she brought some of her hair down to cover her ears. It was pointed, and she knew that most people would not react very well if they saw her with pointed ears. They'd think she was an overgrown house-elf or something. And then she'd have a hell of an explanation to do and everything. 

Very annoying. 

But thankfully, she was glad that Hermione and the others had known about it. They'd known all there was to know about her. Well, her heritage, anyway. Drusilla couldn't really bring herself to tell them about her family, though she had a sneaking suspicion that they did, anyway. 

If they did, then it was pretty much decent of them not to breathe a word to her. 

"Right," she mumbled to her reflection. "I look much better now." She was about to turn away and out of the bathroom when her reflection suddenly shimmered in front of her. Drusilla stood still, stunned at what was happening. 

As if the mirror was simply a still bowl of glass, it rippled, the circles going wider and wider until the bathroom behind her seemed to fade away. 

Half of her wanted to turn away to see if she was still in the bathroom, but the mirror did not allow her to pull her gaze away. It held her, _forced _her to see. 

And she did. The air was eerie and cold, yet thick with malicious intent and...death. It formed a blanket, choking the inky black sky overhead. Drusilla drew in a breath, and it seared through her lungs. It was then that people melted into the foreboding image. She was standing on some kind of cliff, overlooking barren land. The broken pillars at the side of the cliffs told her that this place was once magnificent. 

But now, it was crawling with evil. It seeped through her veins, under her skin...it defiled her. Drusilla cried out in pain at the sudden, piercing scream, and she saw five hideous, white people in front of her. They were translucent and tall, and they looked like sea kings, with long tendrils of hair wisping around them. They looked as if they were about to fade out of existence any moment, and yet looked alarmingly...solid.

She looked at their faces and fought not to scream. They were awful. Eye sockets stared malevolently at her, sending chills down her spine. They held long swords, and their hands were mere bones, like the rest of their bodies. They were nothing more than phantoms. But she knew that she would see these phantoms in her nightmares for days to come...

Drusilla tried to speak, to formulate some kind of response, but her mouth was not hers to command. They edged towards her, and she felt a strange terror seeping into her bones. The five phantoms before her promised a black death. The leader held out a bony, curled claw, demanding something. She jerked away from the phantom automatically, and the hand withdrew. 

She was confused now, what did he want? This time, there was no confusing the fury in it's eyeless gaze as it threw back its head and screamed. She cried out again. This time the cry was so much more painful. It etched it's black self into her brain and tore at her ears, this time with the silent promise of a fate much worse than death. 

The phantom raised it's sword high, point down. It was headed towards her. 

It brought the sword straight down with a vengeful scream. 

This time, she joined it. 

Drusilla felt herself being thrown backwards, and her butt hit the cold marble tile so gracelessly at her teeth hurt. The sudden pain and the realization that she was still in the bathroom brought her back fully, her head spinning for a moment. She stared at the mirror again, this time a little fearfully. She recognized it now as a vision. A terrible vision, because it all felt so real. The pain felt so real...she pulled down the shoulder of her bathrobe that the sword should have sliced into, and was vastly relieved when no wound was there. 

She shuddered at the images she'd seen, and wondered what it was all about. The five of them looked like kings of some kind, and they were holding swords. Swords...they were from Middle-Earth. 

They had to be. 

She had acquired a sword from her mother, too, and realized that it was similar in make, if only hers was much smoother and straighter. No one in this world could possibly yield a sword, of all things. They all had wands, and Muggles, what with the little she'd known about them, definitely did not have swords. They had a black Muggle wand thing which they used to kill people, called gin...no...gin was not it...but something very similar to the word. 

There was a throbbing ache in her skull now, and she massaged her temples in the hopes of alleviating it. Well, at least she had visions. What with the magical ability in her close to that of Neville's, it was strangely comforting. She was not that useless after all, not like what her father had said to her on many occasions. 

The small feeling of pride faded away just as fast when there was a frantic banging of the bathroom door before it flew open and Harry burst in, followed only by Ron and Hermione, since Dad and Mom had left early for work, much to her relief.

"Drusilla"! Hermione exclaimed as she saw her on the floor. "What happened?" 

"We heard you screaming from downstairs," Harry said, a little more calmly. "Are you hurt?" 

"No, no." she replied as Ron helped her to her feet. She hadn't realized that she'd made so much noise. She shot another uncertain look at the mirror again, as if expecting it to have the texture of water any minute. "I had a vision." 

"A vision?" Ron snorted, thinking of the batty old Professor Trelawney, the Divinations Teacher, who had never failed to tell him and Harry when they would die etc, often reaching new levels of originality in the manners of death and what they would die from. There was once she'd said that Harry would die from choking on mashed potatoes that sent Ron and Drusilla both into an incurable laughing fit that had lasted for ten minutes, and cost them both a detention and twenty points from Gryffindor. 

A sharp look from Hermione silenced him. Although she thought Divination was a whole lot of bullcrap and visions were just nonsense, something inside told her that what Drusilla had just experienced was well, real. Her porcelain face was paler than normal, and her usually glittering elvish blue eyes were dimmed and cloudy, her breathing uneven. "What did you see?" she put a comforting hand on hers, and was surprised to feel it tremble violently within hers. 

"Five...five phantoms. They were the ugliest gits you've ever seen," she told them, forcing on a brave front and unwilling to tell them how much it frightened her. "They seemed to be reaching for something, and then I jerked back, and the leader stabbed a sword into me." 

"A sword?" 

Drusilla nodded, sure now in her conviction even as she unconsciously touched her shoulder. "The vision was from Middle-Earth. Only they 

could have a sword in that design. I've showed you guys mine, right? Just think of something more jagged and definitely thicker." 

"But why would it show you something like that?" Harry questioned curiously, then looked her over. "I suppose it was very vivid." 

"It had surround-sound," she agreed, not believing that he had to ask. "I could feel every single thing. And the place was so dark and evil. It was as if the air itself was trying to choke me." And answering his question, she shook her head. "I don't have control over visions, you know." 

"I'm sure it's nothing much," Hermione spoke up, trying to comfort her. But she did not seem quite so convinced herself. 

"Maybe you should take Trelawney's place as the Divination Teacher, you know." Ron joked weakly, trying valiantly to lighten the situation. 

"Yeah," Drusilla laughed, desperate for anything to take her mind off the awful events earlier. "And you'll get more detentions than anyone else, Ron, because your methods of killing yourself is so ridiculous that instead of being morbid it's actually laughable." 

"I'm glad someone actually sees through it." he replied dryly. 

"It's getting late," Harry said suddenly, glancing at his watch. "And we've got to get to the Burrow to meet the rest of the Weasleys to go to Diagon Alley for our school books." 

"Then let's go," Drusilla replied quickly. "Give me a few minutes for me to change into something decent, then I'll see you guys downstairs." 

***

True to her word, Drusilla came down five minutes later, wearing a simple sweater and a skirt. Her Hogwarts cloak--a necessity for all Hogwarts students to wear--was neatly draped around her shoulders. She carried her luggages with her, her face flushed with the effort. 

"Here," Harry said amiably, reaching out to take two of the heavier looking baggages from her. "Let me help." 

She smiled at him gratefully. "Thanks." 

She missed the knowing looks Hermione and Ron exchanged as they headed out of the door. 

***

By the end of the day, the four had forgotten about the vision earlier that morning, since it was all a rush to get all the books they needed. Ron had dragged Harry with him to see the new Quidditch broomsticks that were currently the hottest items that season, and Hermione was fascinated by a quaint old bookshop a few blocks down Flourish and Blotts. Not seeing the point of Quidditch and being mortally afraid of Hermione's abnormal love for books, Drusilla decided to wander around by herself. 

Finally, with all the books bought and everything done, she couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief. At least now she had a chance to relax, instead of running around like a headless chicken all morning. She absently jingled the gold Galleons in her pocket, and was secretly thankful for the fact that the Ministry of Magic had transferred her father's money in his account to hers since he'd be there forever. It was not very legal, but what with her...unique situation and all, they were willing to make some allowances so that she could at least live life not being a beggar. 

She made sure her ears were properly concealed once more before strolling leisurely along, taking her time to take in the sights and sounds of the Alley. It never ceased to fascinate her, what with all the styles the various witches and wizards were dressed in. Owls of different sizes were flitting about, hooting merrily back to the post office that was located just around the corner. 

Suddenly, a witch wearing a gigantic hat sauntered by, looking extremely ridiculous and like a penguin in that waddling fashion, and she couldn't help but stare, her eyes following the woman and marvelling at the way her hat did not seem to get in her way at all. The least it was supposed to do, she figured, would be to impede her progress towards her destination, since it was quite literally swallowing her head. All she saw, really, was simply a hat and a robe, showing off an ample bosom and even more an even more ample rear end. 

And, as her luck would have it, she walked straight into someone. 

It was like walking into a wall. 

"Ow!" she cried out automatically, ready to snap the offending person's head off. 

"It wasn't so pleasant bumping into you, too, House-Elf Fontaine." came the familiar, sneering voice. Malfoy. 

Oh, of all sodding days--!

Her expression of pain turned into one of anger as she glared at him. Or rather, _up _at him. Draco Malfoy seemed to grow taller already over the holidays, and it definitely didn't help that he'd grown much more handsome in that time. His hair was still in the same, smarmy slicked back way, and his face, although looking older and more alluring, had not lost that sneering touch that reminded her of a pug. 

A very handsome pug. She, to her own disgust, had never seen anyone who looked as good as him when he sneered. 

__

Too bad his damn attitude stinks like hell, she thought vehemently as she glowered at him. He was dressed all in black, _and that's a surprise because? _and had worn his Hogwarts cloak, giving him an air of mystery and danger. 

It was too bad that he knew all too well what kind of aura he exuded, too. Girls seemed to flock to him in droves because of his bad boy persona and a--in her opinion--rotten attitude, and she found herself wondering at how many hearts he'd so callously broken during the past few years at Hogwarts.

"Sod off, Malfoy." she snapped, trying to push past him. She really didn't need this now. He neatly stepped in her way and stared down at her, his gray eyes cold and unfeeling. 

"What's the hurry to leave?" he drawled. "Going off to clean your master's house?" 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she shot back, feeling her anger boiling. Damn it, she was NOT a house-elf, and she sure as hell was not going to clean anything for anybody!

His eyes flashed maliciously. "Potter and your other friends not with you, eh?" he spat out the name Potter as if it was poison. "Or maybe they've decided to leave you, after all. You and Granger would make a wonderful pair, though. Twin vermin of the wizarding world." 

Drusilla could not help but feel stunned at this particularly venomous insult. Malfoy would normally say that she was a filthy House-elf and Hermione was a filthy Mudblood and leave it at that, but nothing as bad as this. She quickly collected herself, and fixed him with a condescending glare, ignoring the sudden flare of pain she felt inside at his remark. 

"Tsk tsk, Malfoy. Angry because your father had been sent to Azkaban, huh? Decide to take it all out on me because you miss him?" She was determined to get her own back, to show the damned, arrogant git that she was not one to be toyed with. "How about you join him, since being a Death Eater is an obvious criteria to having a one-way ticket there and you have it?" 

His eyes darkened, and he leaned in closer to her, almost snarling in his fury. "Don't you ever compare me to my filthy father, you disgusting half-breed! You don't know a thing!" he had grabbed her elbow, and it was beginning to throb in a dull pain from his death grip. 

She was stunned for an instant. This was far too extreme, even for someone like him. What was wrong with that silly sod anyway? Then she smiled, more to rattle him than anything. "You're hurting me." 

"I don't care!" he hissed, so that his face was barely inches from hers. She could see that he was really angry, but was more taken aback by the slight flicker of...disappointment that she'd seen for only a split-second. "Don't. Ever. Assume that I'm a Death Eater, do you understand?" his voice was cold and threatening, and she could feel his breath on her cheek. "You don't know anything about me." 

"I don't want to know anything about you." she replied, her mouth set in a line. His nearness seemed to awaken strange emotions within her, 

mostly heat, and she was horrified that her body was automatically responding to him. "You're a disgusting Death Eater." 

Great, something was very, very wrong with her today. 

Maybe it had something to do with the vision this morning. 

"You think it's funny, do you?" he spat back, his grip on her arm tightening. "That all I am is a sodding Death Eater in your eyes?"

"Why would you care, anyway?" she retorted. "I thought I was beneath your notice, as you so eloquently pointed out to me several times?" 

He growled low in his throat, and she found herself pinned against the wall. "Don't push me, Fontaine." 

"What is your prob--" she demanded, but was cut short when he suddenly crushed her lips with his. It was not a loving kiss. 

Far from it. His tongue forced her mouth open, and from there, it was a fight for dominance. Drusilla was drawn into this kiss, finding herself unable to pull away, no matter how much she wanted to. Despite the brutality of his kiss, she leaned further into it, throwing all common sense to the wind and giving in to the whirlwind of madness that had swallowed her the moment their lips made contact. He knew exactly how to...stimulate her senses, and she hated that she loved every moment of it, of teasing him and fighting back. Of feeling these deliciously forbidden emotions for him...no, a small part of her whispered. Nothing would ever be the same again...

It was then that her brain kicked in. With a disgusted sound, she pushed him away and wiped futilely at her stinging lips. He did not look angry, he simply looked amused. And she hated the fact that she wanted him right then and there. 

"Why, I never knew you were so good, Fontaine." he smirked. "Practiced on the Weasel and Potty, did you? How much did you get after getting them up?" 

This was definitely the last straw. He had been waging war on her senses, bringing out anger, lust, puzzlement, and abject humiliation at the shameless way he'd insulted her integrity. Before she even knew it, she delivered a stinging slap to his cheek. Damn, her palm stung. His head whipped to the side at the force of the blow, and she stalked away, her good mood broken.

***

The train chuffed through the lush green countryside, and Draco stared out, his feet propped on the opposite seat. He was inwardly relieved that no one had come to disturb him, including the too-thick Crabbe and Goyle. Everyone in his part of the train had recognized the deadly signs and had decided to leave him alone, due more to self-preservation than anything. 

But maybe someone--anyone--should come in to annoy the hell out of him. At least he would be able to get a certain, damned girl out of his mind. Damn that half-breed. His mouth curled up in a disdainful sneer. An Elf and a Wizard, who'd think about that? 

In his opinion, he did not care if the Elf was from another dimension or not. She was a halfblood. She was not pure, and that was all that mattered. 

But even that piece of news did nothing to kindle his disgust for her these past couple of years. All he could freaking think of was how soft and firm her lips were. Not too squishy and not too hard, just the way he liked it. She was beautiful, he had to give her that. She looked especially so when he was pressed up against her last night. Strange how most women would look ghastly if he looked too closely at them, but not this Drusilla. She moved with a grace all her own, her head held high, and she generally had an aura about her that seemed to send guys falling at her feet. Guys, who were, for most part, him. 

Damn her. 

Malfoys did not love, as a general rule. They all were ruthless, heartless, and cunning in getting whatever they wanted. It was practically second nature to throw things away once their use was over. It was what he'd lived on for so many years. His old man, albeit being a despised Death Eater, had actually taught him a few things about life. 

But he seemed to be going against himself, his eyes had always rested on her during mealtimes at the Great Hall, and he would often watch as she ate and laughed with Potter and the rest of his sodding friends. He even observed the faint flicker in her strangely sparkling eyes if she was nervous or upset, and the way she would smile. There had always been a different kind of smile she used, awkward, happy, uneasy, sad...

He was fascinated by the wide range of emotions that would be present on her face. He was fascinated by her, period. 

It was disgusting. 

Bloody gits, the lot of them, he thought bitterly. He had been especially nasty to that damned girl yesterday mostly because he wanted to cover his surprise at seeing her, and the hidden, ever-so-annoying delight he felt within. And so he lashed out, thinking to perhaps find something else to hate about. He wanted to hurt her, to somehow punish her for the alien feelings that were so overpowering and frightening and lovely at 

the same time. 

It was all her fault.

But to his surprise and horror, the fact that she was a halfblood did not bother him. Not in the least, ever since his father was sent to Azkaban for life. Was it then that he'd started developing feelings for her? He wasn't sure. And he wasn't sure whether he wanted to, anyway. All he knew was that she had succeeded in hurting him last night. Just the memory of her disgusted eyes looking into his was enough to make his blood boil.

Who the hell does she think she is? He raged silently, his eyes narrowing. His father was a Death Eater, not him. In fact, being a Death Eater was one of the last things he'd wanted to do. It was plenty stupid, really. Why serve a Dark Lord when one can plan on ruling the world himself? Well, maybe his father was some kind of a spineless git, and it bothered him, more than he would ever bother to admit. Draco Malfoy was anything but spineless. 

So why did Drusilla's words bother him so? It was annoying, really, the way he cared so much for what she thought. That girl was just another face in the crowd, not worth bothering with at all. 

It was really difficult to think along those thoughts when his brain kept going back to the events last night and the strange urge to kiss her again, to simply feel her lips against his own, to feel her touch once more. She had the softest skin he'd ever felt. It was like warm silk, comforting and perfectly loving, yet burning with a fire all on its own. And he realized that he wanted her, more than ever before. 

Damn all those bloody Malfoy rules. Lucius was never going to come back, and he didn't care about what the old man would think anymore if he found out his son was lusting over a half-breed. 

He wanted her. 

And he vowed he would have her. 

***

Drusilla was not listening to the usual banter between Hermione and Ron, who had been arguing about a grand total of five different and totally unrelated topics ever since they had stepped onto the train. Her mind was somewhere else, particularly, on Draco Malfoy. 

Her fingers touched her lips absently, remembering all too well the kiss last night. Ever since then, she had not been able to sleep well, because everytime she closed her eyes, his words came drifting back to her. 

"_You think its funny, do you? That all I am is a sodding Death Eater in your eyes?"_

She would never forget the momentary flicker of disappointment in his steel gray eyes, and she shook her head. Draco Malfoy looking disappointed was very unnerving. 

I've gone too far yesterday, she realized with a pang. _I called him disgusting. I never did that before. _

But neither had he called her and Hermione vermin before, so maybe it all worked out. An eye for an eye and all that. 

Still, she could not shake off the feeling that she'd done something she shouldn't have done, and she cursed her ever-so-annoying conscience. Since when did Draco Malfoy feel anything save for contempt and anger, anyway? 

She felt a warm heat rise to her cheeks when she remembered the feeling of his hard, toned body against hers. He'd filled out pretty nicely, she reluctantly admitted. _And hotter than ever._ _Way hotter. _

"Why," Ron suddenly said, staring at Drusilla, who was obviously not listening to them and totally out of it. "Is she blushing?"

Hermione squinted at her and shrugged. "I don't know. She seems to be thinking of something. Was like that since last night." 

Harry waved a hand in front of her face and frowned when there was no response. "Do you think she's under a curse of some kind?" 

Hermione smirked mysteriously. "No. Not really. There's occasional movement on her part." 

"She's lost her mind." Ron shook his head. "She doesn't usually think like this." 

"Maybe," she said, noncommittally. 

Ron frowned at his girlfriend, knowing that she was hiding something. "You know something we don't!" 

"It's a girl thing, Ron," she said impatiently, snorting at his childishness. "You won't understand." 

"Of course I won't understand," he grumbled. "You're refusing to tell me!" 

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked annoyed. "Don't be so childish, Ron. It's not very becoming."

Ron sputtered and was about to say something when the compartment door was flung open, drawing Drusilla out of her funk. Oliver Wood 

marched in, a big, triumphant grin on his face. 

"Potter!" he boomed, not waiting for either of them to greet him. "I've drawn up a whole new foolproof plan on the training sessions! We are going to train at night and during lesson breaks, instead of in the morning, and I will get McGonagall's approval on letting you people to sleep a little later! The Slytherins would use the field in the morning" he looked thoroughly disgusted. "And we'll see if they dare take our field time at night! And--" 

"Wood!" Came an annoyed shout. It was decidedly female, and Harry, who had gotten over the shock of seeing the tall boy bursting into the room with all the force of a charging rhinoceros and the warped excitement of Quidditch practice, exchanged looks with Ron. Hermione and Drusilla looked knowing, which, in the boys' eyes, were very unnerving. 

Oliver, for one, flinched and looked a little afraid. "Oh, no. I deliberately waited for her to go to the Ladies to sneak out to find you!" 

Moments later, Jessica Kendall, another Gryffindor, poked her head in and glared at him. She was a beautiful girl, with sunshine gold hair tumbling to her shoulders and perfect features. 

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT BOTHERING POTTER?" she demanded. "YOU'VE SPENT THE ENTIRE HOLIDAYS TALKING ABOUT NOTHING BUT QUIDDITCH AND ANNOYING ME TO DEATH, CAN'T YOU GIVE THE POOR LAD SOME TIME TO HIMSELF BEFORE YOU JUMP DOWN HIS BACK?"

"Sweetie, this is very impor--" He looked very flustered and red, and Harry was amused. Since when did Wood ever act like this? WHEN did he ever use the term Sweetie on something that wasn't a broomstick, a Quaffle, a Bludger, or a Snitch?

Jessica turned on her heel and stormed off. Wood shot them one last, helpless look before chasing after her, leaving the four of them to stare at each other in bewilderment. 

"Well, at least you don't have to worry whether Wood's obsession with Quidditch is healthy or not," Ron spoke, trying not to laugh. "He's got another one to keep him on his toes." 

"How did they ever get together, anyway?" Hermione asked curiously. "Those two are could not be any more different."

It was true. Wood was only well known for his crazed obsession with Quidditch, and the fact that he had a girlfriend was very weird. 

"Opposites attract, you know." Drusilla spoke up. 

"Yeah," Ron joked. "Next thing we know, you're dating Draco Malfoy, eh?" 

"What?" Drusilla turned a deep shade of crimson and rolled her eyes. "Don't be an ass, Ron." 

"Ah, look!" Hermione said, pointing out to the train station in the far distance, which was nothing but a small speck. "Do you think we're 

reaching?" 

Drusilla looked out, her eyes focusing on the station in the distant horizon. "Yeah." she said. "We're just about a couple of leagues off." she shrugged. "They repainted the station. Well, at least it doesn't look too old now." 

The three of them stared at her in surprise. 

"You know," Harry said. "I think I'm never going to get over your ability to see things far away so clearly." 

She smiled at him. "Get used to it. I'm not as capable of magic as you guys are, so maybe this evens it all out." She looked out the window 

again, at the indiscernible spot a little further away. "I can see Hogwarts, too." she sighed. "I really missed that place." 

"Me too." Hermione nodded, her eyes taking on a wistful light. "Especially the classes." 

"Herm, it's only the beginning of the school year. Please don't horrify us with your obsession with lessons."

Sorry if it's a little long. Please read and review, I need your opinion. Thanks!


	2. Visionary or Unwanted Attractions

The first few days passed in an unorganised whirlwind for Drusilla, who more often than not had her timetable somewhat messed up and had to rely on Hermione to get her to the day's classes. And if it was not bad enough that Hermione had this uncanny tendency to launch into a long and utterly boring lecture on how important it was to have a semblance of order in one's life, she had to put up with her talks about Ron. Well, the Ron part wasn't so bad, come to think about it. But it always seemed like Drusilla needed a reason to accept Ron as Herm's new boyfriend or something. 

Annoying, really. But sweet in a way. She did not know Hermione cared so much for him. It had seemed as if, during the times they'd been together and the things that they'd been through, they had reached a new level in their relationship that not only seemed to bind them physically together--out of the gutter, brain!--but spiritually as well. 

It was really sweet to see Ron's or Hermione's eyes light up visibly when the other was near, the way they feigned bickering--or really quarrelled--as an excuse to find somewhere to make up in. It was so sweet the way he would drag Harry--most likely, since he was always with him--to wait outside their classes and walk Hermione to the next destination, under the excuse that he had something to ask her. It was sweet that he remembered her birthday and sent her little gifts that Hermione would proudly put on her dresser back at home. Sometimes, it was so sweet that it was sickening. 

She was jealous, she realized. Jealous of the warmth and the unconditional care that they showed for each other, jealous of the simple, knowing warmth shared exclusively between the two of them that seemed to have closed itself to her, as if taunting her that she would never in her wildest dreams ever experience something like that. _You are not good enough. _Drusilla had forced herself not to think about this for so long now, and here it was biting at her, gnawing at her heart. 

She'd never really changed, not really. All she had done was run away from the problems, assume a new face and a new life. That was all she did. _All I could do._

Samuel Fontaine and the Lady Morwen--her father and mother--had affected her so much more than that. It all ran deeper, right down to the crevices in her soul, where their blackness was etched there and simply refused to leave. She had raged silently on countless sleepless nights, cursed that she was their flesh and blood. Spawn of their rotten flesh and black blood. She hated that she had been forced to see the suffering inflicted by the Death Eaters onto Muggles and the wizards who dared to go against them. 

__

You have a new life now, something told her. _Move on._

Move on...

"Move it, vermin." Came an all-too-familiar snarl. Someone--a very familiar someone--brushed past her rudely, and from the flash of slicked-back white blonde hair, Drusilla knew who it was. 

__

Malfoy. She scowled, her eyes darkening. Half the reason she was scowling was because of the strange flutter in her stomach when her mind spoke his name, and the other half was because he had obviously moved on to his next insult for the two of them. He barely looked at her, as he and his two other bonehead cronies, Crabbe and Goyle swaggered down the corridor as if they owned it. 

"Just what I needed," Hermione said darkly, staring after them. "A new nickname and an up-close and personal moment with Ferret Boy." 

__

Oh, you don't know up-close and personal, Drusilla thought before she could stop herself. The unwelcome imagery of his lips roughly pressing on hers was annoying, much less to say that a tell-tale flush was beginning to spread on her cheeks. Well, at least he served to take her mind away from her maudlin thoughts. It was strange to see that he was back to his old, arrogant, and irritating self again, strutting the halls and picking on students who were not from Slytherin. 

Her, in particular. 

He did not seem to have remembered the kiss that other night, and even if he did, she reckoned that he was doing a very good job of concealing it. Maybe he woke up and realized that it was a mistake, but it still did not explain away the flicker of feeling she had seen when the barriers within his cold gray eyes fell for just a moment, and allowed her to see into him. Well, a little deeper, anyway. 

__

Why am I even thinking about him? Strange how all her thoughts seemed to revolve around him these days. Especially when they would lock gazes with each other in the Great Hall. His eyes would wander over to her table--for some reason or another--and she would notice. And that would begin their competition, to see who would look away first. 

To her disgust, she was always the one who pulled away first. His eyes then had held an uncharacteristic intensity that made it difficult for her to look into them for too long. Then, satisfied that he won the contest, his face would curl up in a familiar sneer. A cute sneer that looked so good on him... she could always feel the heat, the unspoken...passion between them, and from the faint look in his eyes, she knew he felt it too. It had never died away, liked she had so desperately hoped, but merely reduced to flickering embers that raged to flame again when they were stoked. Namely, the staring competition. 

__

Oh God. He was ignoring her when anyone else was around as usual and here she was lusting over him like a hormonally-charged maniac. She was impressed with his ability to hold it in, and decided that she would do the same. He was a bloody _Malfoy, _for Heaven's sake! 

"You're spacing out again." Hermione accused, peering at her. "What's wrong, Dru?" 

She was about to reply when a searing pain shot through her head like a bullet, red-hot in its intensity and fury. She cried out and her hands flew to her head, her quills, parchments, and books scattered on the floor with a loud noise. It was sharp and direct, and something slammed into her mind, seething and searching. 

It was an eye. 

A gigantic eye wreathed in infernal flame, large and all-seeing. It seemed to mark itself into her and draw out her breath, leaving her without oxygen. It raised sharp daggers and stabbed them into her mind, causing her to scream in pain even as her mind writhed in pure agony.

The Eye was furious, and it directed its wrath onto her. 

__

Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazgthrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.. it promised, dredging itself even harder, forcing her to listen. And she realized she understood the tongue. 

The Black Tongue. 

This was Sauron. 

Unable to take the pain anymore, her world faded to a peaceful, painless nothingness. 

***

"Drusilla!" Hermione desperately tried to shake the other girl awake, her mind racing with fear and worry. Drusilla had passed out after squirming and screaming. She had seemed to be in pain; Hermione could see it through the contortions of her face, and the intensity which she grabbed her head. Someone, or something--she realized with a cold chill--was doing some sort of curse on her. It was the only thing she could think of. 

__

The visions, her mind whispered, and she frowned. It could not possibly be the visions, could it? This was too...intense, to painful, and as far as she knew, visions weren't supposed to be like that. 

And that worried her even more. 

Hermione knelt down beside her and put a shaking hand to her throat, feeling for a pulse. Thank goodness she was still alive. She shook Drusilla again, this time a little more gently. "Drusilla, wake up!" 

She was about to look for help when someone pushed past her roughly. "Make way, Mudblood." Came the harsh voice.

It was Malfoy, and Hermione stared at him in shock as he leaned over and picked her up as if she was the lightest thing in the world. He glared at her, his scowl firmly in place, his silver eyes bleak and cold as usual. Yet, there was a strange tinge to it, something she couldn't place... "Well? Are you going to stand there and stare?" 

__

Why is Malfoy helping her? She wondered, but then shook herself. This was not the time. She got to her feet and was about to demand an answer to her unspoken question when he spun on his heel and swept away, with the other girl firmly in his arms. She forced herself not to think about how she hung in his arms as if she was dead. 

This was getting stranger and stranger. 

***

The first thing Drusilla felt upon awakening was pain. 

Lots of pain. 

"Urgh..." she croaked, her throat dry and chapped, and the throbbing at the back of her head refused to go away. It clamped to the back of her head like a baby alien, and it hurt to even think. As her eyes focused, she saw Hermione, Harry, and Ron at her bedside, all looking really worried. 

"How do you feel?" Harry was the first one to ask as Hermione handed her a glass of orange liquid. 

He helped prop the fluffy and downy pillows so that she could sit up more comfortably. She almost threw up when her head was raised, but pushed down the feeling of dizziness. She took the glass gratefully and drank down the contents, which was surprisingly sweet and refreshing, and felt so much better. The pain receded a little, at least. "Yes." she said slowly

"What happened?" Hermione questioned, taking back the glass once it was drained and filling another glass, this time with plain water, for her on standby in case she needed it. 

"I had a vision." she said slowly, not looking at them. "A really strong one. And I think it saw me too. It was so...so angry." she shuddered at the memory of it, but quickly mastered herself, although she couldn't quite conceal the shaking of her hands. "It was so painful, like needles stabbing into your brain." 

"What did you see, Dru?" Hermione leaned forward, the revelation that she indeed had had a vision was scaring her a little. Did all visions come this painful?

"An Eye. I saw a giant Eye with flames around it." Come to think of it, the Eye did not look remotely human, and that was what scared her. It reminded her of a giant, malevolent cat's eye. 

"What do you suppose it means?" Ron was clueless, glad that it was not spiders this time. He'd had had enough of spiders to last him several lifetimes, thank you very much. 

"I don't know." she mumbled. It would not do to tell them about what she knew. 

Harry saw through her immediately, and his eyes darkened. "Tell us, Dru. We're your friends, we won't run away." _I won't run away,_ he added silently, watching her pale face slowly regain some of its colour as she looked up at him with those enchanting blue eyes that only she could possess. It spoke volumes to him now, and he caught his breath. 

"You all know my mother was not from here." she said in a voice so soft that they strained it hear. It was clear that this was taking alot out of her, and for once, uncertainty at how they would take this glimmered in her eyes. She had consciously tried not to remind them how different she was, but now, it was all coming out. Like dust swept under the carpet, it all was coming back to her. "She's from a place called Middle-Earth. Another dimension, if you will. And in that world, there was a Dark Lord." 

"Like Voldemort." Harry realized, knowing what it was going to lead to. It seemed like no matter which dimension it was, which world it was, there was bound to be an evil being within. 

She glanced up at him, then turned away again, this time choosing to stare out of the windows where sunlight was still streaming in. "My mother said that Sauron once had this ring, thousands and thousands of years ago. He used it to control the free peoples of Middle-Earth. In it was poured his malice, his evil, and his will to dominate." she rubbed her arms and paled a little at the memory. "In short, there was a huge war, an alliance of some kind between the race of Men and Elves to stop him from taking over the lands and filling it with his terrors. Sauron was killed and his ring taken from him. But of course, the guy wasn't really dead, because his essence was still within the ring, called the One Ring. And of course, there were some who were in an alliance with Sauron, who wanted him restored to power." she paused for a long moment. "My mother was one of them." 

"I thought your kind of Elves were supposed to be kind and nature-loving and everything." Ron frowned, looking confused. Drusilla had not spoken much about her mother, and he was under the impression that she was--at the very least--not as evil as her father. It did not occur to him that she was one of the evil ones. 

'My mother was different." she clenched and unclenched her fists, valiantly trying not to look them in the eye. What would they think of her now? Would they run away? Would they stare at her in the same accusing manner as they stared at Death Eaters? "She was Sauron's daughter." 

This time, the silence was a long one. 

"Tha-that makes you his granddaughter?" Ron squeaked, his eyes wide. 

Drusilla smiled bitterly. That was nothing to be proud of. "It's a curse." she said softly. 

Harry was the first to get his bearings. "Well." he cleared his throat. "That makes your mother thousands of years old." 

"We are immortal." she reminded him delicately, not wanting to think about the day when her friends would grow old and die while she looked as young as ever. It was a horrible fate to be able to live forever. 

"I know." There was something unreadable in his eyes, and he looked straight at her. 

She did not break the gaze. "I guess you've all got a reason to hate me now." she said miserably. "I'm not as good as you think I am." 

"Your heritage is black," Harry reminded her. "Not you. You got sorted into Gryffindor, and that's something." He paused. "What about your vision?" 

"It's called the Eye of Sauron," she told them, remembering how her mother had told her stories. Her mother had always told her the stories of her home in the dying candlelight, where the shadows seemed to be waiting to snatch at them, to claim them as one of their own. "When he...perished. All that was left of him was an Eye. The One Ring must've been found." Then she remembered something. "And remember the vision I had when we were back at Hermione's place? I believe those were the Nazgul." 

"Nazgul?" 

She sighed. "They were once men. Kings who desired power above all things. Sauron lied to them, and turned them into the things that they were, the Black Riders. They were bound to search for the Ring." She hoped she was right. 

"It sounds strange," Ron said, frowning. "Why would you suddenly get these visions?" 

"I don't know." she put a hand to her forehead. "I really have no idea. Maybe it's because I'm from Middle-Earth. Maybe the visions are just reminding me that I'm from that place."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Harry said, trying to be comforting. "I mean, what can you do?" 

__

I can go back, she thought silently, the thought of the place where she belonged being in danger was tugging at her heart. It seemed to be beckoning to her somehow, and she was confused. Harry was right. Even if she could go, what _could _she do? She wasn't a good witch, not by far, considering she was as bad as Longbottom and was hard-pressed, sometimes, as to why Harry and the others decided to take her in as their good friend. So what exactly, was she able to do there?

__

Nothing. Then she frowned, remembering something she had forgotten to ask. "Who brought me here?" 

The three of them hesitated for a moment, as if unsure if they could tell her.

"Um. It was Malfoy." Hermione replied, her face unreadable. 

"What?!" The glass stopped halfway to her lips, and she stared at them, shocked. Him, of all people?

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "He's an odd git, that one. Wonder how he heard you all the way down the corridor." 

"Must've been lurking somewhere in the back," Ron spat. "He's always up to no good." 

"Strange, though." Hermione said thoughtfully, looking at Drusilla. "He seemed pretty worried about you when you passed out." She skipped out the part where he called her a Mudblood, knowing that Ron would threaten to throttle him again. "Hah. That was so strange, seeing Malfoy having different expressions instead of disdainful and sneering." 

Breaking the almost knowing gaze, Drusilla hurriedly drank down the contents, not wanting them to see her with a red face. "I-I'm sure it's nothing. I mean, he was pretty close by at that time, and I was screaming like no tomorrow." she hesitated, trying to curb the warm flow of feelings through her body. "It was pretty decent of him, though." 

"Decent and Malfoy do not belong in the same novel." Ron snapped. "I bet he's just looking for suitable blackmail material. I mean, how bad can your luck get?" 

Drusilla supposed she couldn't blame him for belittling Malfoy like that, since Malfoy had tormented and mocked all of them on a regular basis. But still, there was a strange little prod at the back of her mind that tried to propel her to defend him. _The visions are getting to me, _she thought soberly. _Now I'm losing my mind more than ever. Defend Malfoy?_

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey announced at the other end of the hospital wing, her features settling into a righteous frown and hands firmly planted on her hips. "Time's up! Don't disturb the patient, and please next time limit yourself to two people only!" 

"Get some rest," Ron told her. 

"I'll bring your homework for you," Hermione, being a chronic workaholic, promised. 

"We'll come to see you soon, Drusilla." Harry promised her with a small smile and a gentle squeeze on her hand before he followed Hermione and Ron out. "Bye." 

"Bye." She called after them, feeling a slight ache of emptiness at their departure. It was when they were around her that she felt truly...in the world, she supposed. They made her feel less alone. 

"Now, now, Miss Fontaine," Madam Pomfrey said, bustling around her and forcing her to lie down. "You've had had a difficult day today, and you should get more rest!" She placed an uneven slab of chocolate on the table next to her. "Eat this later," she instructed. "And sleep now!" 

__

Great, Drusilla grimaced as she sank down into the soft bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. _Madam Pomfrey thinks I've lost my mind. _

***

It was already dark, and lights-out was long over. Now, the hallways were eerily silent and devoid of any human being. Well, maybe except Filch, that is. But Draco had already checked that Filch would not be patrolling this wing of the school until an hour or so later. 

As silently as he could, he slipped out of the dungeons and made his way to the hospital wing, marvelling at himself for doing so. Draco Malfoy had never visited anyone in the hospital room at all, not even Crabbe and Goyle had that honor while they were injured, and this was new to him. 

New and unnerving. 

But he had to see Drusilla. He had to see her, to see that she was all right, for sleep to be able to come easily to him. From the fiasco this morning, deep down, he was right glad that he had been there when she passed out. He didn't even bother with Mudblood Granger when he rushed her into the Hospital wing. And then and there, Mudblood, Potty, and the Weasel could not get rid of him fast enough, and so, to his pride, he slung a few well-placed--and totally unruffled--insults and left, giving them the impression that he was all too happy to do so, though deep inside, he was worried for her, and never wanted to leave, for fear that something might happen to her again. And this time, he would not be there. 

Hah. If any of the feelings that he'd been having for House-Elf Fontaine were to get out, he would never live this down. Draco broke hearts as easily as changing his clothes, and what would they say if they saw him sneaking down to see the one girl the Slytherins hated more than Potter himself? His reputation would go down the drain in a flash, and the barrier he had erected between himself and the others would be broken. Everyone would know that he was not as tough as he made himself--forced himself to be. 

But Drusilla was different, more different than what he'd made her out to be. She was a turncoat, a snivelling traitor--everyone was under the impression that she spurned Slytherin of her own accord to join Gryffindor--the house of senselessly brave idiots who could do no wrong--made more unforgivable when her father and her ancestors in general were from Slytherin. It didn't make sense, once you thought about it, but it was the way it was. 

Drusilla, though almost being a Squib, was not a coward, he quickly found out. She had dark blood in her, but she was human. She had a soul. 

She had a heart. 

The girls who threw themselves at him were simpering morons who seemed to think that he liked them frail and helpless and non-opinionated. Well, he had, at first, but they had gotten boring so quickly. He could insult them and they wouldn't know what he meant. And that was only from the other Houses. The Slytherin women were worse. Pansy in particular, would throw herself at him begging to get laid at every waking minute of the day. The worst thing was that she did not seem to get a clue that he did not want to do her--most of the time anyway, but damn, she had a fine body--and already he was sick of all the females in Hogwarts. They were all so...predictable. And needless to say, they fell for him because of his image, the Ice Prince of Slytherin, the bloody bastard who bedded girls and tossed them away like tissue, the bad boy of Hogwarts, and the list went on and on. It was all so hopelessly mundane and shallow. 

The girl Drusilla, however, was a different matter entirely. It always seemed like she was able to see right through him, to know who he was inside. It was unsettling, but that knowledge drew him to her like a moth to the flame. Of course, there was always a chance that he would get burnt in the process. To his disgust, he still could not get the kiss out of his mind. He had kissed many girls before, but this one seemed particularly stuck in his head. Probably because of her angry response that soon melted into a confession of hidden lust and understanding--for the both of them--and till now, whenever he saw her in the halls or during lessons, he would have an overwhelming urge to just get her alone,shove her into an empty classroom and do things with her that more often than not made him take a long, icy shower afterward. 

Most unpleasant, really. 

Turning a corner, he stepped into the Hospital Wing. It was deathly quiet--Madam Pomfrey had already gone to bed--save for a soft, barely noticeable breathing sound. His heart skipping a beat--again--at her nearness, he stepped quietly over to where she lay fast asleep. 

__

She even looks beautiful when she's asleep, he mused, standing at her bedside and simply staring down at her, allowing himself a moment of fascination. No one was here anyway. 

Her eyelashes were long and curled, casting delicate shadows on her irisdescent cheeks. Her face seemed to almost glow in the dark with an ethereal quality, and Draco wondered if the Elf that mothered her was beautiful as well. Her hair was splayed on the pillow, allowing him a glimpse of her pointed ears, something that reminded him that she was not human. Her breathing was exceptionally quiet, and if not for the slight rise and fall of her chest, he would almost think that she was dead. Her cheeks were tinged with a faint pink, and her mouth was slightly curled in an innocent smile. 

He wondered what she was dreaming of. 

Unable to help himself, Draco reached out and tentatively brushed his hand across her cheek. They were unnaturally soft, like warm silk that sent tingles down his spine. He was going to regret doing this later, he knew it. The Malfoy pride never died, and here he was, lusting over this-this person. It was as if he was falling in love with her. 

__

Falling in love? His mind chaffed mockingly. _How stupid can you get?_

His heart whispered. _Yes._

Unfortunately, Draco was never one who listened to his heart. 

***

AN: To **Shadow**, Thanks for the lovely review! It really encouraged me to keep going! 


	3. For The Love of A Serpent

"Hi," Hermione said breathlessly, flouncing down the Great Hall where Drusilla and Harry were sitting, comparing notes or something like it on Trelawney's class earlier. Drusilla, for one, had been discharged early this morning when Madam Pomfrey found her to be much better--not that she was _that _ill anyway-- "Sorry I'm late." She put her books down on the table and slid into the seat opposite the two of them. 

Harry, for one, didn't much notice her, to Hermione's amusement--he was much too busy _looking _at Drusilla, who was scribbling like crazy into her little notebook. At her voice, Drusilla looked up--causing Harry to switch his embarrassed gaze to Hermione--and grinned. "Hey. Witness me doing my homework. Not last minute."

"Hi Herm." Harry joined in, his sparkling cerulean eyes glancing around, realizing that her other half was not around. "Where's Ron?" 

"He'll be coming soon, he's got something to do with McGonagall." she replied, sorting through her books. "Feeling much better now, Dru?" 

"I wasn't ill in the first place. Just had a little headache, that's all." 

Hermione looked a little taken aback at the defensive edge in the other girl's voice before Drusilla hastily added, by way of explanation. "I spent one whole day putting up with Madam Pomfrey, who thinks I've gone off my rocker."

"Oh." Well, in that case, she had valid reason. Drusilla gave her an apologetic smile and bowed her head to copy furiously again. 

"Hey," Drusilla spoke up after a while, her voice sounding a little muffled. "You stuck two Mars here." 

Harry turned to look at his map. "That's correct. It's the whole alignment and blue moon thing." 

"Oh. Okay." she looked sheepish. "A bit off today." 

Hermione looked up just in time to see Harry shoot an affectionate look at Drusilla--which she completely missed--and her suspicions were confirmed. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was in love. 

With his friend, no less. 

"All right, done!" Drusilla shut her book triumphantly and wiggled her fingers to get the feeling back into them. "Thanks alot, Harry. Wouldn't know what I would've done without you." 

"Don't thank me," he deadpanned. "I'm as bad in Trelawney's class as you are, what with her still seeing my death in teacups and crystal balls and everything." 

"You shouldn't stay in that class, you know." Hermione told them, shaking her head. "Divination is a rubbish subject, with no solid proof to back the whole thing up." 

Drusilla sighed. "You know I suck at most of the subjects, Hermione." 

"You're good at Transfiguration and Arithmancy." she pointed out. 

"Yes, but I need at least four other subjects, too. Snape's killing me in Potions, I'm barely scraping through in Professor Flitwick's and Professor Sprout's class...and Care of Magical Creatures...no matter how high I get, that subject doesn't really count, does it?" she looked very discouraged. "And at least Trelawney likes my aura enough to give me good grades." 

"Divination's not so bad," Harry said quickly, and Hermione shot him a knowing look. He had been complaining about Divination-well, as much as Harry can complain, anyway--but had obviously stayed on to accompany Drusilla, since she was so bad at so many subjects. He'd even put up with Trelawney's morbid predictions of his future--or, according to her Inner Eye--lack thereof, and Hermione was amazed that Drusilla had not noticed all these little things yet.

"Since when do you say that?" Ron demanded, coming up to them with his sister, Ginny, in tow. She was a pretty little thing, really, but a lot on the shy side. Ever since the fiasco with Tom Riddle's diary a few years back, she'd retreated into herself, and Drusilla--apart from Harry and the rest, of course--was the only one in Gryffindor who made friends with her. All the other Gryffindors seemed to think mildly that she was a strange person, and her crush on Harry was no secret. 

_They're very compatible, though._ Drusilla thought absently as she smiled at the younger redhead. _And even better, she's Ron's sister. No danger there. _

"Well, I uh--" Harry looked embarrassed and was scrambling for words as Drusilla made a seat for Ginny so she could sit next to Harry. She missed Harry's crestfallen expression as Ginny shot her a grateful smile and slid in between them. 

"Hi, Harry." she said shyly. 

Harry, being a gentleman, simply smiled back warmly at her. "Hi, Ginny." He looked at the table, which was already filling with food. "Are you hungry? Strange how it's lunchtime already." 

Drusilla filled her plate with the carved-up pieces of beef at the centre of the table and began cutting it up into little pieces, falling into conversation with Ron and Hermione. It was then that she looked up--for no reason at all, really--with the nagging feeling that someone was watching her. 

And indeed, someone was. 

And that someone was Draco Malfoy. 

And what made her distinctly uncomfortable was that he wasn't simply just looking at her out of the corner of his eye or anything, he was very _openly_ staring at her. She felt the meat settling heavily in her stomach as she gazed back at him, her chin tilted a little higher, daring him to keep eye contact. 

To her annoyance, he simply smirked at her in that arrogant manner of his and kept staring. 

__

Damn you, she thought, feeling a warm flush creep up her cheeks yet again. When would she ever stop blushing in front of that silly git? _Damn you. _

Damn the fact that he was so handsome, simply sitting there and staring at her insolently, looking so alluring and dangerously beautiful that try as she might, she could not possibly tear her eyes away. What had started as a staring competition was now a mutual admiration of each other. Strange how none of the Slytherins or Gryffindors had noticed yet. 

Heat raced through her veins and dulled again as he broke eye contact, still in his relaxed manner, and turned to Crabbe and Goyle. Drusilla cursed him. How could he stay so cool when she was already yearning for him? She tamped down the errant emotions and fixed her gaze on her plate. That was it, she was _not _going to think about him. Not in that sense. It was all so...wrong. 

Wrong because it all felt so _right._

Knowing that she was not going to get food to her stomach now, she rose and excused herself. Well, at least she could go ride Aeglos now and expend some of that--ahem--energy. Most probably, Aeglos was out wandering somewhere--he had always refused to be locked up in a stable like normal horses, but then again, he wasn't normal. Aeglos was a wild horse, born to roam the lands. It was lucky for Drusilla that she had managed to persuade him to roam the lands near Hogwarts so he needn't be so far away from her. It was chilly out, and as she left the warmth of the Great Hall, she wrapped her red and yellow scarf around her neck to keep warmer. 

Turning a corner, she gasped when she almost bumped into someone there. 

A very special someone who went by the name of Draco Malfoy, that someone she was trying so hard to purge out of her system--_it was just a bloody kiss, for God's sake!_

Her breath got caught in her throat when she realized that he was simply leaning against the wall, his pose relaxed and totally unruffled. He looked up at her and smirked. "Thought you'd never come."

She took a tentative step back, her eyes wide. "How-how did you get here so fast?" 

"I've got my ways," he said vaguely, and left it at that as he pushed off from the wall and sauntered towards her, perfectly aware that she was already reacting to his nearness. Hell, he was already reacting to hers. In the chill of the corridor, he could already feel her body heat, sense that she was beckoning to him already, and it drived him nuts. All the crap about being a Malfoy and how love was a technical impossibility for people in that bloodline did not matter to him now. Not when he was around her. Did she even know what she was doing to him? 

And for most part, part of her charm was that she did _not_ know. 

Deciding to play with her for a little while, he absently fingered the soft material of the scarf. It seemed so much rougher when compared to her skin. He let his fingers drift to her cheeks, and he caressed it like a lover would. A soft blush appeared under his fingertips, and then and there, she was beautiful. 

__

So beautiful...

Her eyes were lidded, and she whispered. "Please stop this." 

Impudently, he leaned closer and whispered in her ear, inhaling her fresh scent that reminded him of summertime. "Do you want me to?" his voice was roughened by the passion surging within him. He brushed her soft ringlets back and his tongue flicked out, caressing the pointy tip of her ear. To his pleasure, she whimpered and her hold on him tightened. Before she knew it, he had her pressed against the wall, providing no avenue for her escape. 

"My, my." he whispered in a low, seductive undertone, planting a soft kiss on her eartip. "Our little Elf is sensitive here." 

She gasped a little at the contact and immediately tried to break away from him before it was too late, but he held her firmly in place, not allowing her to escape. Deciding that he'd toyed with her enough and reaching the end of his tether, Draco tilted her chin up and kissed her. 

It was a strangely gentle kiss, and Drusilla was taken aback for a moment. Who knew he could be so gentle? One hand snaked around her waist, and another at the back of her neck, positioning her so that he could kiss her even deeper. Her lips opened to his questing one almost immediately, and it was then that the passion took over them. The gentle kiss became fiercer and fiercer, growing in feeling and lust. His hand had slipped into the sweater she was wearing, trailing small, hot circles on her back with his fingers. 

She almost cried out at the sudden coldness that hit her bruised lips when he trailed his own down her neck, skillfully undoing the scarf and unbuttoning the first button on her blouse. She felt a warm heat surge through her entire body, and she pulled him closer. He sensed her yearning and his lips returned to hers, all their thoughts abandoned for the moment. 

All that mattered were each other. 

Her lips, her face, her fingers, they were so soft...seductive silk that inflamed his senses, driving him over the edge as he drank in her kisses eagerly, feeling her hands tracing looping patterns on his chest...his cold heart was warmed at her skin pressing against his, and in that moment, he knew he was falling...

Falling into something he could not come back out of. 

And he did not care. 

Once more, the kiss turned rough, searching...dominating. And this time, she submitted, letting him mark her as his own. But it was not long before she responded, her touch burning like a brand on his skin, the scent of her seeping into his veins, into his heart, marking him, branding him. He would never be free of her anymore. 

She was his, and he was hers. 

Finally, they pulled away, and he rested his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged and uneven, but he was...strange enough, feeling content just about now with the world, the first time he'd ever felt that way around a woman, even the ones he had bedded. Her deep blue eyes were mesmerizing, and then and there, he felt his long-time effort of building up a cold wall between him and everyone else, the formation of barriers, of nasty insults to keep everyone away from him, crumbling like a cookie. No matter how much he tried to salvage it, he could not hold on. He could not bear to push Drusilla away, he did not want to. He saw the hidden promise in her eyes, the gentle warmth that caressed his cold and dead soul, the realization that she was in love with him. It was as if she understood him, revived a part of his heart that he thought was long dead. He felt...alive. 

But he was afraid. His old man had drummed it into him that emotions were weaknesses, they were for losers who would not be able to achieve great things in the real world. _Yeah, but look at him now, _a snide voice in his head whispered. _He's doing 'great things' now by rotting in Azkaban. _

__

Emotions were weaknesses. Drusilla is my weakness. I cannot let her become that. 

Drusilla saw the hesitation in his eyes, and her fingers touched the side of his face almost tenderly. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, pressing her against him, as if willing her to mold against him and never let go. So many things were answered in the last few minutes. 

So many things were clear for her now. 

She was in love with Draco Malfoy. 

He stiffened, and his arms slipped away from her. Drusilla's eyes widened at the gesture and looked into his silver-gray eyes for any kind of answer. She froze when she saw that his eyes had resumed that usual iciness, his perfect mouth curled up in an all-too-familiar, disdainful sneer. 

"Good to know that underneath all that innocence, you're such a slut." He threw the words at her and brushed off his clothes as if they were dirty. Draco forced himself to look her in the eye, and he could feel his heart shatter together with hers. Because there was pain. 

Pain in those beautiful blue eyes. Pain like nothing he had ever seen before in any girl's eyes. 

Pain he never wanted to see again. 

His fumbled words had quite clearly cut into her with a knife-edged intensity. His words, spawned from fear of the unknown, had hurt the only woman he would ever, ever love. 

__

It has to be this way, he told himself. _I'm a Malfoy. I'm a Slytherin. This cannot possibly work out. I cannot love her. _

I cannot. 

Ignoring his heart's plaintive cries to return to her, to take back all his words, he turned away and stalked off, not wanting to look her in the eye once more, because it might break his heart once again. He had to say those words, to hurt her as much as possible. To hurt her as much as it was hurting him inside so that she would run far away from him. So that he would forget her. Forget his moment of weakness. Forget his weakness. 

He was Draco Malfoy. 

He would love no one. In that moment, he felt as if he had died once more. And Drusilla joined him. 

***

"Good God!" Hermione exclaimed later that night as she saw Drusilla trudging into the Common Room, trailing layers of dirt in her wake. Her clothes were muddied as was her face, and her eyes...

Her eyes were uncharacteristically red-rimmed and puffy, and it looked as if she had been crying. Hermione's annoyance faded to deep concern as she took one step towards her foster sister and best friend. "You went riding in this weather? Why are you crying?" 

Harry half-stood, dropping his quill on the assignment from McGonagall he had industriously been working on for the whole of that evening, his brow furrowed in concern. He saw none of her filthiness, he saw none of her disheveled robes. All he saw were her eyes. Her innocent, dancing eyes filled with a dim pain, dulled and almost dead. He only saw that she was dreadfully unhappy. "Drusilla! What happened?' 

All that came out was a choked sob, and she fled to her room--sixth years were lucky that way, at least they had their own private rooms--leaving the three of them to stare at each other in bewilderment. 

****

A nailbiting half an hour later, it was established that Harry would go in and find out what was wrong, because his gentle disposition and polite manner made him the perfect candidate. Also, he was the one who had the crush on her, and it was only decent of Ron and Hermione to both try to get them together--according to them, it was a perfect match--but they said nothing of this to Harry, of course. They simply pushed him towards her door and vigorously insisted that he was the one to go in. 

And so he did, half of him feeling strangely unsure of himself and how she would react to his presence, another half wanting to just gather her in his arms and make her pain go away. He did not know what exactly was wrong, but it didn't matter. The girl he had fallen in love with was sad, and that was what ultimately counted. 

Tentatively, he pushed open the door. Faint candlelight flickered against the walls, and the faint hint of steam wafted to his nose. She had taken a hot, steaming bath not long before, and the lingering scent of her soap still clung to the air, pleasantly refreshing. 

"Dru?" he asked softly, his eyes adjusting to the dim light in her room, which was further proof of her unhappiness. Drusilla never dimmed her room's lights. It was either brightly lit or turned off totally. He remembered her mentioning that she was a fussy sleeper, actually. She could not sleep when a light is turned on, no matter how dim, and he had always found it rather..odd. 

But not tonight. He found her sitting on her bed, cross-legged and already in a simple white nightdress. Her hair was back to her usual ringlets and spilled all over her face, the flickering light casting long shadows over her pale face. There was something different about it, though. Her face now...glowed a little less, if that was the word for it. She was not crying now, but simply looked worn. 

"Dru." He stated, not going past a gentle and tentative tone. 

She did not look at him, instead, looked down at her hands. "Hi Harry." 

In those few moments, he watched her struggle to gather herself, and he felt a small twinge of bittersweet pang for her when she looked up with a strained smile. "Is there anything I can do for you?" 

He crossed over to her. "Why not let's do something for you first," he suggested. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing. Nothing much." She said hastily, and it was supposed to be true. Malfoy's words were not supposed to hurt like this. He had insulted her so many times before, why was this time so different? 

_Because you love him. _

And what made it worse was when she saw the flash of fear in his eyes before he resumed his cocky and insufferable self again. She had _seen,_ and she was confused. What did it all mean? Why did he purposely hurt her like that? Why did he say those things to her? Why did he look at her like he hated her so, when a few moments before, his eyes had told her that he loved her? Why? 

__

It's not supposed to hurt like this. 

To his credit, Harry did not say anything; he simply sat down on edge of the bed next to her. Drusilla found that she could not look him in the eye, not when his piercing, comforting gaze was on her. He would understand, she knew. But somehow, a little voice at the back of her head was nagging at her not to. If she actually told him who caused it, she was afraid that Harry would personally pull out Draco's spleen from his nostrils. 

Which was a bad thing. 

__

Because Harry could be expelled, she reasoned. _Nothing to do with Drac-Malfoy whatsoever. Nothing._

To her surprise, once she really thought about it, she wasn't angry. Not by far. The more befitting expression would be disappointment. Or hurt. Or confusion. Somewhere along those lines. _Love's not supposed to be like this, is it?_

There was a long silence, and it was obvious that Harry was _not _going to go away like she half-expected him to until he had a semblance of an answer from her. Or something. The look in his eyes plainly said that he did not expect something as much as an answer to what she was going through, he was just going to be there for her. He wanted her to have some kind of reaction, or something pertaining to that. An answer was just a bonus.

"I-I don't know what I'm supposed to say." she said softly, uncertainly. "It's not like I've been through something like this before." 

"You don't have to say anything that you don't want to say. I understand." He told her gently. 

Her next words took him entirely by surprise. "It'd be simpler if I could just hate him. I think he wanted me to. I think it made it easier to be the bad guy of the story." Her laugh was harsh and bitter. "No feelings, no emotions, no weaknesses. Only hate." she paused, and this time, it was charged with her sorrow and his heartbreak. "He was just afraid to love." _He was afraid to love me. _

A large part of Harry wanted to demand who it was, who was the bloody git who had the fortune of holding her heart in his hand, and the callousness and stupidity to stomp it into pieces. A bitter edge of anger rose within him, and he tamped it down. It was no good for her to see him angered, to see him jealous, and he did not want to upset her more than she already was. A small portion of him was gleefully happy that the one she fancied had not returned her feelings, and it hinted that he had a good chance, the other, larger portion mostly felt guilty and sad for her, because above it all, he wanted her to be happy. _Happy with me,_ an errant thought raced through his head. 

Drusilla glanced at him, momentarily confused at his reaction. For once, behind his round glasses, his normally calm blue-green eyes were angry--she could still see it no matter how much he tried to conceal it-- his fair, strong face was set in a grim line, his calloused hands--used to years of snatching at glittering gold Snitches in mid-air, were clenched into fists. "Harry?" 

He seemed to snap out of it immediately, his posture relaxing when he caught her watching him. His cheeks looked strangely pink, and Drusilla was more mystified than ever. Was Harry running a fever? Here she was rambling on and on about the problem she would never fully reveal to him and he was sick. 

"Are you ill, Harry?" She reached out a hand to touch his forehead, and he immediately ducked back to avoid it. In the process, Drusilla had leaned too far forward and with a small sound of surprise, lost her balance, if not for Harry catching her wrist just in time to prevent her from falling into him and probably knocking him off the bed.

Her sudden nearness knocked him off guard, and he had a chance to stare into her eyes, to admire the smoothness of her face. For a moment, he had an overwhelming urge to stroke her cheek, to feel the silky softness that her skin seemed to suggest. He wanted to touch her lips with his own, to watch her sapphire blue eyes flutter shut like delicate butterflies as he kissed her...

"Wow," Drusilla hurriedly remarked, pulling her wrist away from his comfortably warm and gentle grasp. Something strange had fluttered between them for a moment there, the look in his eyes... she had no idea what just happened, and decided to leave it at that. "You've got nice reflexes." 

The odd moment was over, and Harry looked a little awkward. "Uh...thanks. Must be the years of playing Quidditch." he flashed her a smile, and her heart was momentarily warmed. He was always so good to her, giving her without question or hesitation what she asked him to. His homework, the Invisibility cloak she had to borrow for an urgent errand, and lots of other things. 

Come to think of it, he was the one who had never failed to be there for her. Ron and Hermione were always in their own little rosy world of love, more often than not leaving her and Harry alone--unintentionally, of course--and she supposed that it was from there that their friendship developed. He was a great person, a truly rare catch of a man. Nice and polite, he was unassuming and was always a gentleman. Harry was always willing to help his friends when they needed it, and he was especially well-mannered--Drusilla was always most impressed with that fact because he had grown up with the awful Dursleys and had--thankfully--not picked up any of their bad habits, staying as pleasant and as kind-hearted as ever. 

Not many people these days--Muggles and Wizards alike--could say that about themselves. She was glad to have a best friend like him. And Ginny had good taste. 

He opened his mouth, and no sound came out. He tried again hastily, and nodded. "Y-Yeah. I'm feeling very well, thank you. I just uh, I need to get some rest. It's late." 

"Of course. Good night, Harry." 

"Good night to you, too, Dru." he smiled warmly at her before getting off the bed and heading for the door. Drusilla watched his slender--a little on the skinny side--figure for a moment, then said, "Harry?" 

He turned immediately. "Yes?" 

"Thank you." 

"Whatever for?" He was pleasantly surprised. 

"For uh, listening to me." Well, at least he listened as much as she told him, she figured. And the fact that he did not prod her for more details like Ron or Hermione most probably would, made her thankful that it was him who entered her room in the first place. "And for not...asking questions." 

"I'm always here for you, Dru." He promised, an unreadable look in his eyes as he slowly shut the door. _I can make you happy. _

***

"So?" Hermione demanded as soon as Harry stepped out of the room. All the rest of the Gryffindors save for the ones who had Quidditch practice a little later that night had retired to their respective bedrooms for the night, leaving only the three of them in the Common Room--the rest of the team had just gone to their rooms to change into their Quidditch robes. Harry had a strange look on his face, and they wondered what was wrong. 

"Dru's in love." he said simply. "Out of it, actually." 

"What? She loved someone and didn't tell us?" Ron was shocked. 

"Did they go out?" Hermione questioned curiously. 

"I guess so. But it seems like he uh, dumped her. Or something." His eyes flashed, and he said in an unnervingly calm tone. "If I ever find the bastard, I'm going to--" 

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. "Now is not the time for this, Harry, and you know it." She paused and looked over at him. "You've got a chance." 

Harry started in surprise and stared at her. "What?" 

Ron grinned and patted his back. "Oh, come off it, Harry. Your crush on Dru isn't a secret anymore. It's just that that girl's too thick to see it." 

He sighed, and his cheeks turned pink, a rarity for him. "I don't know, Ron, Hermione. It's just that sometimes, I wish that I could just put her in my pocket or something, like a Snitch, so that she doesn't run away from me , but I know that it isn't how it works." 

"Are you going to give up, then?" Hermione questioned. 

"Of course not," he told them, and there was determination in his eyes. "As long as she isn't married or anything, I've still got a pretty good chance, haven't I?" 

"Then you've got to do something about it then," Ron encouraged. "Send her flowers or something. Console her and do the romantic things guy usually do to get girls." 

"She isn't exactly a...girl." Harry pointed out delicately. _She's not like other girls, that's why I like her._

"Right," he replied impatiently and threw up his hands in exasperation. "An Elf girl. They're all the same! Romantic gestures and gifts, that's what gets them." 

"Romantic gestures and gifts?" he frowned, thinking. He'd never really done a romantic thing for any girl before, and he didn't quite know what exactly to do. 

"Flowers, little trinkets, sweets--her favourite ones from Hogsmeade, walk her to her classes, romantic things! By Merlin, Harry, do you know how to chase a girl or not?" 

"It's not as if _you _know," he replied, a little crossly. Which was true. Ron and Hermione spent three years skirting around each other before they finally got together. 

Ron turned beet red, and hastily said. "That is not the point here. The point here is you and Drusilla, not _me_ and Drusilla." 

"I-I really don't know how to get around this..." he admitted. 

"You've got to stop being so shy, especially around the girls you like." Hermione pointed out. Hell, so many girls were falling at his feet in total adoration, and it was alarming that he was still a little shy when it came to his adoring masses, too. "Being shy isn't going to get you anywhere." 

"Yeah, show some courage as if you're fighting Voldemort." 

Harry looked irritated. "Drusilla's not Voldemort, Ron." 

"I meant _figuratively!_" 

"Team!" Wood bellowed, emerging from Jessica's room with his clothes rumpled and his voice strangely husky--no one really wanted to know what he was doing inside, of all places--"PRACTICE!!" And if it was possible, he did not seem as energetic tonight as he had been all other nights. 

"See you guys tomorrow," Harry told them as he whisked up his Firebolt in one fluid movement and patted down his Quidditch robes. "Good night." 

"Have a nice time practicing." Ron told him, giving him a small wave. 

Hermione simply shook her head. "Wood's gone insane." 

***

"Hi Hagrid." Drusilla smiled faintly as the friendly half-giant opened his door. The gamekeeper's bushy eyebrows rose in surprise. 

"Well, hello Drusilla. What are yer doin' here?" 

"I can't sleep, so I decided to head down here and see how your pets are doing." she hesitated. "Can I come in?" 

"Of course," he flung open the door with a wide grin. "You're always welcome. I was just surprised is all. Where are yer friends?" 

"Harry's playing having Quidditch practice, Ron and Hermione are off doing couple things by themselves, and I'm lonely." She admitted.

The half-giant patted her head in a friendly manner. "When yer bored, Drusilla, you're always welcome to come here. Buckbeak misses you." 

"Ooh," she said, delighted at the mention of the Hippogriff that had been returned to him when Sirius Black had his name cleared after Voldemort was vanquished, which meant that he need not run from the law anymore. It was indeed a very good piece of news for Harry, who no longer had to live with the horrid Dursleys. "Can I see him?" 

"O' course," he led her to his back door and opened it, revealing Buckbeak snoozing near the pumpkin patch. He twitched a little, his legs tucked snugly below his large frame, and there was a faint snoring sound that indicated that the large Hippogriff was asleep. 

"Beaky!" Hagrid exclaimed, rousing the creature from sleep. "Look who's here to see you!" 

Buckbeak groggily got to his feet and opened one eye lazily, then straightened up again when he got a clearer view of who it was. Drusilla stepped forward and looked it in the eye, and the Hippogriff bowed. 

Hagrid grinned. "I'll be in there now, yer have fun taking care of Beaky! He's been lonely nowadays." 

"All right, Hagrid." She patted Buckbeak's neck lovingly and spoke softly to it. Hagrid had always liked her because she seemed to have a way with animals, especially dangerous ones, and was able to get them under control with a whispered word or two that he did not catch, and he chalked it up to her strange legacy as half-elf and half-wizard. She was really very useful to have around in the class when a particular student or two were busy trying to provoke his pets. 

"Quel elelle au', Buckbeak." Good to see you again, Buckbeak. she patted its head, and it nuzzled its beak against her shoulder, sensing her hidden emotions at once, and liking it when she spoke Elvish to him. Drusilla knew it enabled the creature to see her soul, such were the nature of her kind. "Lle rangwa coramin." You understand my heart. 

Then she remembered that he was the Hippogriff who had attacked Malfoy when he was in the third year, and she couldn't help but smile vaguely. "Things were so simple then," she said softly, speaking in English now as she absently stroked him. "There was only hate between us. He would torment us, Ron would hit him, or actually, Hermione did." her smile widened at that thought. "And that was it. No more further contact. She felt a hot prickling at the back of her eyes, and her next words got momentarily choked in her throat. "Why did he make me love him? Rhach coramin!" Curse my heart! 

It was her damned heart that had started all these. It was a way of life for Elves, for whomever they have given their heart to, it was near impossible to tear themselves away from that person. An Elf's love was constant, unending...

Her love was Draco Malfoy. 

She had unknowingly given her heart to him when they kissed. And he had not taken it, and instead threw it in her face with icy hatred in his eyes. She had felt his fear; it pressed against her like a dagger on her skin, over her heart. It pained her to know that she could not reach him. And right now, even as she contemplated her life, it all seemed bleak and empty, and she was once again reminded of her friends' mortality. She was going to spend her lifetimes wandering through this world alone while her best friends died of old age. 

She was never going to die. 

And she could not deal with that. When her friends die, would they go with a curse on their lips, cursing her for her youth when they themselves were old and suffering? Could she deal with watching the world around her ebb and wane, not being a part of it anymore? Now it was easy for her to live in the moment, everyone was still young, she was still a baby--by an immortal's standards--and knew nothing much of the world, albeit a little more than normal people. 

So what was she going to do when the seas and mountains fell? Would her life still have meaning then? What would she do when Draco was gone from this world? Would she join him in death? 

__

So many questions...so many regrets... I wish I was born a mortal. 

__

Childhood living is easy to do

The things you wanted I bought them for you

you know who I am

You know I can't let you just slide through my hands

Wild horses couldn't drag me away

Wild horses couldn't drag me away

I watched you suffer a dull aching pain

And now you've decided to show me the same

No sweeping exits or off stage lines

Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind

Wild horses couldn't drag me away

Wild horses couldn't drag me away

I know I've dreamed you, it's a sin, it's a lie

And I have my freedom but I don't have much time

Faith has been broken tears must be cried

So let's do some living after we die

Wild horses couldn't drag me away

Wild horses couldn't drag me away

Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away

Wild, wild horses we'll ride them someday

A/N: Sorry if it's a little long-winded, I was feeling very angsty today : -) Please review and tell me if you like it! This chapter doesn't dwell so much on Lord of The Rings, really. I'm just trying to make the entire scene at Hogwarts seem real enough. Wonder if the whole Harry-Drusilla-Draco thing seems a little OOC, though. 


	4. Do You Love Me?

This chapter is specially dedicated to **shadowofadoubt72**, whom, without her wonderful reviews, I would never have the motivation to put this one up. 

The next morning, Drusilla burst into the Great Hall, her hair mussed and her clothes rather untidily arranged. There was a strange look in her eyes, though, even as she sat down on the only available seat next to Harry--Ron and Hermione _always _insisted on sitting together--and put her bag down without even bothering with it too much. 

"Guess what?" she said in a low voice, not waiting for any of them to address her and indicating that this was very clearly top secret. "I found out where my visions come from." 

"Middle-Earth, isn't it?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food, sending little flecks of chewed up bread on the table. Hermione grimaced at him for his lack of table manners, then surreptitiously handing him a napkin. 

"No." she shook her head. "I figure that the vision I had in the school corridor was something else altogether. The first vision was when I was close to a mirror. I was _breathing_ on it." 

"What's the point?" Harry asked curiously, looking up at her. 

Drusilla cast a furtive look around and stood up, deciding that this was something she rather wanted to show them in private. "We've got half an hour to go before our first lesson of the day. I'll show it to you in Myrtle's bathroom." 

"Oh, not again!" Ron moaned. He'd had had quite enough of girl toilets. Especially if there was a volatile, unstable ghost inside there who made it a hobby of hers to peep on Prefects bathing. 

"Moaning Myrtle's in the second floor peeping on the Prefects." Drusilla sighed and tapped her foot. "It's perfectly safe." 

"Come on, then." Harry decided for the rest of them, making to leave. "Let's go." 

***

Draco couldn't help but scowl as he watched the Fabulous Foursome scuttle out of the Great Hall as if Dementors were after them. Drusilla did not seem to be particularly affected by his little talk yesterday, and somewhere down inside, he was furious. 

Dammit, he had spent the whole of last night simply thinking about her and what he'd said and feeling totally wretched, and here she was, looking the same as usual. Looking even better, he had to add. Mussed and untidy, had she been making out with Potter, then? He had come in just a few minutes before her, anyway. His fist involuntarily clenched at the thought that the fucking Boy Who fucking Lived had his grubby hands all over her. 

__

What'd you expect her to do? A little voice in the back of his mind said snidely. _You were the one who pushed her away. So what if she decided to get on with life? Stop thinking about her, Malfoy. She doesn't mean anything to you now. She's just a devious slut, just like all the Slytherin whores. _

This is my December 

This is my time of the year 

This is my December 

This is all so clear 

This is my December 

This is my snow covered home 

This is my December 

This is me alone 

He forced his hand to relax, and seethed with fury at the hold that she'd had over him. Was this some kind of spell she had cast on him? That he _still_ could not get her beautiful, otherworldly face out of his thoughts? That he still remembered her fervent kisses, the loving, trusting gaze in her eyes, her soft, perfectly kissable lips? That he still felt a strange sense of warmth somewhere in his heart when he saw her enter? He slammed his fork on the table. 

He hated this. It was like she had him on a leash. Everything in his body was screaming to go back to her, his mind was also doing the same thing, but screaming at him to hurt her. Hurt her as much as she was hurting him now. No one had ever made him feel like what he felt for her before. No one had made a Malfoy go around in circles before. Whatever it was that he had been afraid of earlier, it was coming true for him now. 

He was truly in love. And he could not pull himself out of it. But he was a bloody Malfoy, for Merlin's sake! Malfoys were superior to anyone and everyone and did not fall in love.

Malfoys did not think obsessively about someone that they were supposed to hate. Malfoys did not love their enemy, did not need them as desperately as plants needed sunlight. Malfoys had no weaknesses. No, none at all….

"Draco?" Goyle waved a pudgy hand in front of his face, and he jumped a little. Just a little. Turning his anger onto the next most available target to get some kind of release from his internal frustration, he snarled. 

"What?!" 

His meatheaded friend looked taken aback at his sudden anger and faltered, not knowing what to say. "Just...just..." 

"Just shut up, idiot." Draco snapped at him harshly, proceeding to tear into his breakfast with a renewed viciousness and trying to block out the feelings of regret and heartache and longing that filled him despite his initial anger at her. The Great Hall, though filled with people, seemed so cold and empty and meaningless now. Now that Drusilla was not in it. Now that she most probably was going out with the Famous Harry Potter and snogging him like she snogged _him _early in the mornings. A tight wrench in his heart made him clench his fork until his knuckles were white. 

Damn his Malfoy pride. Damn his fear. 

Damn her. 

And I 

Just wish that I didn't feel 

Like there was something I missed 

And I 

Take back all the things I said 

To make you feel like that 

And I 

Just wish that I didn't feel 

Like there was something I missed 

And I 

Take back all the things I said to you 

And I give it all away 

Just to have somewhere to go to 

Give it all away 

To have someone to come home to 

This is my December 

These are my snow covered dreams 

This is me pretending 

This is all I need 

_Who she goes out with his hardly your problem anymore. _Something reminded him coldly.And that was right. He did not give a damn about her; she wasn't that important anyway. 

Right? 

Wrong. 

And I 

Just wish that I didn't feel 

Like there was something I missed 

And I 

Take back all the things I said 

To make you feel like that 

And I 

Just wish that I didn't feel 

Like there was something I missed 

And I 

Take back all the things I said to you 

And I give it all away 

Just to have somewhere to go to 

Give it all away 

To have someone to come home to 

This is my December 

This is my time of the year 

This is my December 

This is all so clear 

And I give it all away 

Just to have somewhere to go to 

Give it all away 

To have someone to come home to

***

"Here goes," Drusilla couldn't help a little twinge of nervousness as she filled a small bowl with water. She held it up with both hands and gently blew on it, hoping that she was not wrong about this. That the future she had seen this morning was real and not just the dregs of a dream she'd been having. Then she did not look in it, instead, glanced at them. "Anyone want to see your future?" Damn, this was coming out more confident than she thought. 

"I'll look," Ron volunteered. He stepped to her and looked into the mirror, not really knowing what to expect. He stared into it for a long moment, and was beginning to think that it was getting a little stupid and raised his head. 

Drusilla's eyes were intense--more intense than he'd ever seen her--and she whispered to him. "Look." 

True enough, the surface of the water began to ripple, and the world seemed to melt away from him as the images in front of his eyes coalesced into sharp, moving pictures. His awareness of his surroundings faded away as he was pulled deeper in the spell. 

Before him, he saw that he was in front of the Hospital Wing, looking down at Ginny, whose arm was in a cast. He sucked in a breath at the image. Then it rippled and changed to Flitwick's class, where the little Professor held out a piece of parchment that had an "A" scribbled on it, and another, of Neville accidentally bumping into him in Snape's Potions class and sending a deep purple flask of his tumble to the ground and shatter. 

Then it all went black, and Ron looked up, breathing heavily. Drusilla was holding the bowl at arm's length, to ensure that he was the only one who was looking into it at any one time. 

"Whoa." was all he managed to eke out. It was all so real. "Whoa." 

Drusilla, for one, looked drained and leaned against the sink for support. "I know what it is you saw." she told him, taking the bowl and tipping its contents down into the sink. "I saw it in my mind, too." 

"You mean-you mean that all will come true?" This was getting more and more unbelievable by the minute. Drusilla looked uncertain. 

"I think so." 

"What did you see?" Hermione pressed, dying to know. 

Ron took a breath. "I saw Ginny in a cast, me getting an "A" in the latest Flitwick assignment, and Neville knocking over my flask." His eyes widened in horror as he remembered his sister. "Oh, no! Ginny! I can prevent it, right? Her getting injured?" 

Drusilla nodded. "I guess so. I mean, I don't believe our futures are set in stone. Man, that one took a bit out of me." She put a hand to her head and winced. 

"Are you quite all right?" Harry questioned, noting her faint weariness and moved toward her, as if worried that she might collapse any minute. 

"Oh, I'm all right," She waved a little. "Just a little tired. Got to remember not to do too many visions." 

"Wow, Dru." Ron was impressed. "You can make a living out of this!" 

"Don't be stupid," Hermione chided in irritation at the same time Drusilla said, "Are you insane?" 

"Come on," Ron muttered, remembering his sister. "Let's go and find Ginny before she gets into an accident." 

"Let's hope we're not too late." 

Even as they stepped into the corridor, Colin Creevey came rushing up to them, his face flushed and panting. "There you all are!" he huffed, quite obviously out of breath. "You've got to go and see Ginny, quickly! She tripped and fell down the stairs from the Gryffindor common room, and she's now getting treatment from Madam Pomfrey!" 

Ron shot Drusilla an incredulous look, to find that she was just as surprised as he was. 

"Wow." Hermione muttered. 

Colin shot her a strange look before rushing down the corridor again. 

"Come on," Ron tugged at his girlfriend, and they began heading towards the Hospital Wing. 

***

Well, at least it wasn't that serious. Ginny had clearly tripped on a trick stair while she was reading, fell the wrong way, and fractured her wrist. That was all. And it took a few minutes of Madam Pomfrey's persuasion that she was all right did Ron actually leave her alone, as if he was afraid that she could get hurt again. 

Ron kept shooting Drusilla both amazed and furtive looks, as if not knowing what to expect from her. Drusilla, for one, simply looked drawn and was uncharacteristically quiet. She did not even complain when Snape took off fifty points off them when they came late to his class. It did not take a genius to see that she was not disturbed by the visions earlier but by something else. Something else she had not the courage to tell any of her friends. 

It was hell; the only table that was free was at Malfoy's table, where he was alone, for the first time. 

It was very disturbing. 

Absently, she glanced behind her to see Hermione and Ron slipping into the two seats quite a distance away from them, almost at the opposite side of the class. That meant that she had to sit with Harry. Well, at least that wasn't a big problem. Not compared to Malfoy. She felt him staring at her, and couldn't help but feel a little rattled. What the hell was he doing? 

Judging by the lack of sounds coming from his direction, she confirmed that he was definitely watching her. 

And so was Snape. 

The Potions' Master's eyes glinted maliciously in his pale face as he glowered at the four of them before turning back to the board and snappishly writing down the instructions. He didn't even insult her this time, which was odd in itself. Normally, Snape reserved his harshest comments just for her, and the one day Drusilla thought she was prepared to handle it, none came. 

Deciding to make the best of the situation, she took the ingredients from the table and proceeded to cut them up, doing what the rest of the class was doing now. But her fingers kept slipping, and she couldn't concentrate at all. 

Not with Draco so close by. 

She could almost feel him, feel his eyes on her… Harry was the only one blissfully unaware of the tension between the two of them, she supposed. 

__

Forget it, she told herself wearily. _Draco didn't want me. It's his choice. _It hurt to think about it, and from then, she conscientiously tried not to. Besides, what good would it be? Both ways, it hurt. If, _if_ she ever got with Draco Malfoy, Ron, Hermione, and Harry would kill her and possibly not be friends with her anymore.

__

Especially Harry. She blinked at the sudden, errant thought that breezed into her mind. For some odd reason or another, she particularly did not want to tell Harry about her and Draco. There was a strange feeling within her that told her that if she did, he would get hurt or something. Hurt for what she had no idea. 

Maybe it was all for the best. Draco just wasn't worth it. 

"Here, let me do it," Harry said quietly as he moved over to her and removed the knife slowly from her hand, his lips quirked in a tiny smile. She glanced down and was not very surprised to see that the daisy roots were chopped into largely uneven pieces. She grimaced, knowing all too well what was going to happen when Snape saw—

"Well, well, what have we here?" Snape's greasy voice wafted beside her as he took one look at the ruined ingredients. His jaw was set, and his beady eyes were cold. "What did I say about wasting precious ingredients, Fontaine? You come here late, don't pay attention to what I was saying at all, and spoil—"

"Please, sir." Harry spoke up softly, his dislike for the Potions Master evident even though his voice was polite. Well, as polite as it could get, anyway. "I was the one who did this, not—"

"Silence!" Snape snarled, his face turning purple when he saw that it was Harry who had stuck his nose in that silly girl's business. "Twenty points from Gryffindor because of you, _Potter._ For being an insufferable busybody." 

There was a soft groan around the room, and Snape swung back to regard Drusilla, his eyes narrowed in profound distaste. "And _you._ I have a good mind to—"

"Professor Snape," Draco suddenly spoke up, his voice lazy. He did not look at her, instead, shoved his neatly cut pieces lackadaisically in her direction with an air of someone who was thoroughly bored. "If I might, I believe I was giving her the wrong instructions, and told her to chop them up unevenly so that the speed of reaction would be varied. I apologize." 

Snape and the rest of the class looked taken aback at his sudden—and unexpected—behavior. Drusilla, for one, was gaping at him, open-mouthed. 

His prized student had spoken, and Snape nodded, almost grudgingly. "See that you give her the right instructions the next time, Mr. Malfoy. She's clearly not nearly intelligent enough to think for herself." Then Snape seemed to remember something and swept out of the classroom. 

At her side, Harry clenched his fists, and Drusilla briefly wondered if this would ever end. Snape was insulting her once more, and it was strange how she did not care so much now. She stared down at the nicely cut daisy roots that Draco had handed to her, not knowing what to think. 

"Quit gaping at it, House Elf." Draco sneered, his voice cold and drawling as always. "And don't get me wrong. I just don't want to ruin my brain power by watching hopeless people the likes of you mess things up as always." 

Before Drusilla had time to even react, Harry snarled, "Shut your pie hole, Malfoy. She's so much smarter than a hundred of you put together." 

An unreadable expression flickered on his pale face for a moment, and he crossed his arms, the epitome of calmness. He'd always known exactly which buttons to push. "Ooh, look. Widdle Potty is protecting his widdle girlfriend who really belongs in the kitchens in Hogwarts rather than in the classes with us-"

He didn't finish, owing mainly to the fact that he was sprawled to the floor, his mouth bleeding from the fist Harry flung into it. 

"Harry!" Drusilla exclaimed as she sprang on him and struggled to pull him back, with Seamus' and Dean's help, before he could do anything more drastic than he did just now. His eyes were filled with anger beyond anything Drusilla had ever seen in him before, and was mildly surprised that he was capable of such fury. Everyone had already gathered around them, the Slytherins on one side—Draco's side, of course—and the Gryffindors on the other. Even Ron and Hermione were there. 

"Why, touched a nerve?" Draco was sneering now, casually wiping the blood off his mouth. His eyes glittered with contempt and he made a tsking sound, unruffled as ever. "Should've known you Gryffindors were so pathetic and uneducated." He gave a mock-sigh. "Mudbloods, overgrown servants, pathetic Muggle lovers …how much lower can you people sink?" he cast a particularly disdainful stare at Harry and Drusilla both. "I see you've both hit rock bottom. Famous Harry Potter with a servant, how amusing. How much did you pay her an hour?" 

Harry saw a streak of dark brown slipping past him, and the next thing he saw was Drusilla giving Malfoy a tight slap across his cheek. "I am no whore, Malfoy!" she snarled, remembering all the insults he'd heaped on her. This was definitely the straw that broke the camel's back; she'd had had enough of being insulted by him. "I am so sick of your damnable attitude and your insults. Who the hell do you think you are? You think we've hit rock bottom? Look at yourself first!" 

With that, she did something no one expected her to do. She whirled on her heel and stalked out of the classroom, leaving the Gryffindors and Draco to stare at her in shock and the Slytherins to glower after her in anger. After all, she had just insulted and attacked their so-called 'prince'. 

One Slytherin boy, Mason Connor, made to go after her and make her pay for it, but was stopped by Draco. Mason stared at Draco in surprise as he glared at him. "Leave her alone." 

*~*~*~*

Harry found Drusilla sitting all by herself beside the lake, watching the giant squid lazily swimming across the surface of the water and waving its tentacles. She looked to have been sitting there since Snape's Potions class, and it was nearing sunset now.

It was deathly cold, and he frowned, concerned. She might get pneumonia by simply sitting here like that. Automatically, he removed his own scarf and wrapped it snugly around her. She jumped a little when she felt his gentle touch, then relaxed when she saw that it was only him. 

"You could get a cold sitting out here like this, you know." He told her softly, trying hard not to let his words tremble. It had always intrigued him; when did it all happen? When did he stop feeling for her as a friend and more as a lover? It had probably been within him ever since they met, or maybe it just hit him that Drusilla wasn't just a girl who was a _friend_, she was Drusilla.

She truly cared for him when no one did. He sighed inwardly, cursing his inability to tell her how he felt. Her friendship meant the world to him, and he didn't want to destroy it by telling her how he really felt. What if she did not feel the same? What if she started avoiding him when she found out? It was all so disturbing and confusing, and yet, he thought ironically, she still did not have a clue about what was going on. He'd been sure about his feelings that night when he'd almost kissed her, and it surprised him that she acted as if nothing happened. Either she really didn't know, or she was pretending not to. Either way, it was very discouraging.

"Thanks," she murmured, but made no move to get up. Harry sat himself down beside her, wanting to find out what was wrong. Her behavior had been very strange today. She'd even slapped Malfoy, for Merlin's sake. Not that he blamed her; he was close to killing the slimy git with his bare hands for the disgusting things he'd said about her if it had not been for Drusilla slapping him first and yelling at him, the first time he'd seen her lose her composure. 

"Are you okay?" he queried when she made no attempt at conversation, letting his concern show for her. "If there's anything I can do…" 

"It's nothing…" she hesitated, and Harry felt a flicker of hurt flash through him. She was always so bad at lying, and clearly, she did not trust him enough to speak her mind. 

"I'm sure it's something. Don't lie to me, Dru." He paused, remembering the scene in Snape's Potions class earlier. Then he understood her hesitation. That encounter didn't deserve to be spoken out loud. "Is it about Malfoy?" 

She started in surprise, and an unreadable look crossed her eyes for a moment. For a second there, he had an impression that she looked somewhat afraid. "What?" 

"The fight." 

She turned away and nodded. "For most part, yes. I didn't know he would say something like that." _To me._

"He's slime, Dru." Harry said vehemently, feeling his blood boil as he remembered Malfoy's pointed, sneering face, and the malicious glint in his steely eyes when he insulted Drusilla's integrity… "Don't pay any heed to him, he's not worth it." 

A pregnant pause. "I know." She put her hand to her forehead and sighed. "It's just that…oh, never mind." She couldn't very well say that she was in love with him, could she? Merlin knew what Harry would do. "It's freezing out here, want to go in?" 

Harry was momentarily distracted when she slipped her hand through his. It was so warm and soft, and sent little tingles down his spine. She'd done this many times before, and it was funny how it felt so different now. 

"Drusilla," Harry spoke up, unable to help certain heat from rising to his cheeks as he shifted, a little nervous. He had to get this out, and it was now or never. "Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?"

She shot him a strange look. "We always go to Hogsmeade together, Harry." 

"No." he licked his lips nervously. How was he supposed to get this out? "I mean, only us." 

Drusilla giggled. "For the past few months it was 'only us', silly. Ron and Hermione are bound to go off somewhere by themselves anyway." 

She obviously did not get the hint. 

Not wanting to delve into it anymore—and losing his courage with each passing minute—Harry had to convince himself that for the moment, this was enough.

It wasn't much, but it was enough. 

Together, they made their way into the castle. 

***

Even as they walked down the corridors leading towards the Gryffindor common room, Drusilla noted that Harry still hadn't let go of her hand, but dismissed it just as quickly. He was her best friend, and if he wanted to hold her hand it was really fine with her. And besides, she initiated it first. His hand was pleasantly warm in hers, allowing her a few precious minutes of total security. It was always like nothing could hurt her when he was around. 

"At least classes are over for today," she said, relieved. No more of Draco today. If she had to see him one more time, she was going to go crazy. He always had that effect on her lately, and she hated it. He was a mistake, a huge mistake, so why was she still stuck on him? 

__

Tell that to my heart. She thought bitterly. Nothing, absolutely nothing could change the fact that she still loved him, no matter what he did to her, no matter what kind of things she tried to do to forget him, to drive her out of her heart and mind. And maybe, just maybe, underneath all that, he knew and felt it too. She could see it in the fleeting moments of uncertainty and frustrated longing for her that his gray eyes sometimes gave away. But it was so faint that she had to wonder if she was seeing things. 

__

Draco… her heart sighed in longing. Forbidden longing. 

__

Draco! Her mind exclaimed in surprise as she caught sight of him strolling towards them. He'd apparently seen them in that exact same moment, taking in everything, from the joined hands to their happy expressions to what was obviously Harry's scarf snugly around her neck…

His slate gray eyes revealed his anger, though there was no change in his expression, his bored, aristocratic, closed-off expression. 

__

Why is he angry? She wondered, feeling a familiar fluttering in her heart as she watched him come nearer and nearer. He was so beautiful, so devilishly handsome in that black Slytherin robes that billowed out from his slender, lithe form, accentuating his pale complexion and making his platinum hair stand out even more starkly in contrast with the dark corridor. Draco looked like an angel, fair and white, an angel that exuded the sensuality and delicious danger of the Devil. 

Her heart pounded even harder in her chest at the sight of him. He had always seemed so arrogant, so damned sure of himself, so secure in the knowledge that he was superior to everyone else…she gritted her teeth as she remembered his particularly vicious insults to her that morning and the fact that she'd spent almost the whole day moping about him. 

She hated him. 

She hated him because she loved him.

__

Is it supposed to be this way? She wondered fleetingly. _How can I love someone I hate so much? Why is the enemy so important to me? Why do I love him? _

She squared her shoulders and met his dark eyes head on. She wanted to show him that she could hurt him as much as he hurt her; she understood the compromising situation she and Harry were in, and was determined to use it to her advantage, even though she felt bad for using Harry like that. To Draco's credit, he didn't even seem to acknowledge them even as they brushed past each other, barely touching. 

No insults, no nothing. 

It was simply the infliction of hurt on the two of them, the hidden, bittersweet ache that both felt so acutely in that moment, in that same place, doing no good to either of them, though neither would deign to admit it, resigning to their own private battles and struggles, wallowing in their own pain and their own secret realizations. 

I love you.

I hate you. 

I love you. 

I fucking love you. 

***


	5. I'll Never Walk Away

Once again, this story is dedicated to **shadowofadoubt72**, who reviews all my chapters wonderfully and gives me the inspiration and spirit to keep on going.

To my beta and great pal **artificially flavoured**: Yo girl! Thanks for reading my work!

To:**hurlingbaybe06**, thank you so much for your encouragement and praise! This is for you, too!

It was strange; Drusilla simply couldn't bring herself to be totally interested in playing Wizard's Chess with Ron a while after Harry saw her back to her common room and headed straight for his Quidditch practice. So when his bishop dragged her bishop off the board and proceeded to maul it in an especially barbaric way, she simply sat back and sighed, a glazed look in her eyes. 

Ron raised his eyebrows at her in surprise, clearly puzzled by her odd behavior. Normally, she'd complain about his insane chess pieces or something, but now, she was strangely silent. "Are you all right?" 

No answer. 

"Dru?" he tried again, leaning over in his chair and raised his voice a little. "Are you ill?" 

This time, she jumped, startled, and her eyes began to focus on him. "What?" 

He frowned at her. Something was definitely up. "I said, are you ill? You're behaving so oddly this evening." 

"Oh." She looked a little awkward. "I'm just tired, I guess." She flashed him a weak smile, feeling that it would most probably crack on her face. "It's been a long day. How's Ginny, anyway?" 

"Oh, she's allowed to come back from the Hospital Wing this evening," Ron said, successfully distracted from his original thoughts. "Thanks to Madam Pomfrey." An idea seemed to hit him, and he leaned over a little again, his eyes gleaming a little. "I want to ask you something." 

Drusilla sat back and eyed him warily. Whenever Ron got these looks, it was something to worry about. "What is it?" 

It came out in a decided rush. "Do you like Harry?" 

She blinked. What kind of a question was that? "Of course! He's my best friend." 

He looked faintly exasperated and helpless at the same time. Where was Hermione? "No! Not that way!" 

"What way?" 

"Not the friends way." He was turning as red as his hair, and Drusilla was more confused than ever. Whatever did he mean? "I meant, do you fancy him?" 

"Of course not!" she had to laugh. This was getting stranger and stranger every minute. "He's my best friend, for Merlin's sake, Ron." 

"Oh." He leaned back, looking strangely disappointed. 

"You're a nutter, you know." she said, not really noticing his sudden expression. Not when her thoughts were full of a certain Slytherin. 

***

"Drakie, oh honey, are you all right?" came an all-too-annoying coo from behind him, and as expected, cool hands reached up from behind him to gently squeeze his shoulders. "You look angry." 

Draco tried not to bristle at the annoying nickname she had taken to giving him. And he didn't even want to think about how she had managed to sneak into his room without being caught. "Pansy," he said coolly, not bothering to look at her. What was the use? "What the hell are you doing?" 

"Oh, Drakie," her silky voice assuming an air of a hurt puppy. "I just wanted to see if you were all right, you know. You don't have to be so mean to me." She leaned in and he caught a faint whiff of the beef stew she'd had for dinner earlier before he felt her moist lips on his neck, making her true purpose known. He caught her by the wrist and pulled her down to him, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. 

She would just have to do tonight. 

__

You mean nothing to me, filthy House Elf, he thought as he crushed his lips against Pansy's, his anger and frustration seething within him. Her face rose within his thoughts and refused to leave, making him even more furious. She was now with that bloody Potter, he'd seen that in the corridors, and there was no mistaking that speccy git's almost radiant expression. 

Not to mention she had worn his scarf, too. 

Potty's bloody scarf around her bloody neck. 

With a growl of anger, he ripped off Pansy's sweater and her skirt, showing off her perfect body. Perfect breasts; perfect legs, perfect…

No, not perfect. Not like Drusilla. 

Even her skin wasn't as soft. They seemed as rough as sandpaper. No, no one could compare to Drusilla now. He wanted her, her, and no one else. 

__

Drusilla…

Overcome with a wave of disgust at himself and at the present situation, he picked up Pansy's clothes and tossed them at her. "Get out of my room, bitch. I'm not in the mood tonight." 

***

Drusilla tried desperately not to make a sound as she made her way down the now-empty corridor. It was late now, and she was hungry, having had nothing to eat for dinner. 

She looked around warily for any signs of Filch and his damned cat, crossing her fingers and hoping that the dreadful twosome were off somewhere else in the castle catching other students who were out of their beds. Of course, it really did not help that Filch's office was now located near the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff dormitories, and it seemed like Filch really had a vendetta against them in particular. 

Especially since she heard that Harry read the Kwikspell letter that revealed that Filch was a Squib a few years ago. In retaliation, the man seemed more determined to catch him, to get him back or something. 

__

Maybe I should use the Kwikspell thing too, she thought dryly. _That might stop me from being so hopeless in my classes and keep myself from losing points in Snape's Potions. _

Thinking about Potions class set off a wave of faint depression, bringing back the unpleasant experiences this morning, when Draco had been strangely nice and reaching new levels of viciousness where she was concerned, and he seemed to think that she and Harry had something going on. It was either that or he was just trying to irritate him, too. 

Inwardly, she marveled at Draco's smoothness, the calm and almost oily way he always managed to get under Harry's skin and annoy him to no end. Unlike his first few years in Hogwarts, Draco had almost found a new way to really aggravate everybody under the sun. 

She clenched her fists. Of all people, why him? Why did she have to like him? It had gotten steadily worse; it took lots of effort to actually not stare at him in class, and as Fate would have it, she had always ended up somewhere in his immediate vicinity.

It was annoying. 

She tucked her hands in her robes, remembering the expression on Draco's face earlier that evening. For a split second, his normally cold and impassive demeanor flashed anger and a strange sort of feeling that she couldn't put into words.

It was as if she'd hurt him on some kind of level. 

And then he resumed his normal expression, of cold marble and ice. He looked through her as if she wasn't there even as they passed each other, leaving Drusilla with a bitter feeling in her heart, no matter how many times she told herself that he was a sodding asshole who did not deserve anything from her. 

__

No, no…he isn't, was her next, immediate thought. He was not an asshole. She could see him for who he really was, a boy, a boy who had lived in brute force all his life, a boy who had received no love at all from his family, only fear, hate, and anger. 

In many ways, he was so much worse off than Harry. She could see him, see the fleeting traces of humanity he still had within him, the hidden compassion, the remnants of trust that his father had failed to utterly destroy. She felt his passion, his joy, his pain, with the keenness of a brand to her skin. It seemed like his cold, arrogant, unyielding exterior fell away whenever his eyes met hers

She could see him. 

And she loved him. 

And he's afraid of that, she thought in quiet realization. Because no one has ever loved him unconditionally before. That's why he behaved the way he did. He was scared. 

Her mind flicked back to the scene in Potions this morning when he had stepped in to prevent her from getting into trouble. She saw the disturbed looks the rest of the Slytherins gave him when he spoke in her defense, she saw the momentary flicker of his hooded gray eyes. 

And she knew that whatever he said to her a little later was not what he wanted to say at all. He had his pride, the Malfoy pride, after all, and she supposed that she couldn't exactly blame him. 

His circumstances molded him that way. 

Breathing a soft sigh, she closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to alleviate the pain. Understanding was one thing; being hurt was another thing entirely. 

Too deep in her own thoughts, she did not realize that she had taken a few steps towards the way into the dungeons—the Slytherin dormitories—until the cold, lazy drawl of Draco Malfoy sounded just behind her. 

"What are you doing here, Fontaine?" 

She whirled around, startled out of her wits, only to see his face settling in a scowl, his hands crossed casually over his chest. "Well?" 

Speak of the devil, she thought, suddenly tongue-tied. Was he telepathic or what? Swallowing the lump that had suddenly lodged itself in her throat, she said, "I'm going to the kitchens." 

"Nice try, House Elf. Have you gotten so stupid that you've actually lost your way?" he sneered, carefully mastering his own surprise upon seeing her. 

The remark should've hurt, but it didn't, even as she looked straight into his frosty eyes, the color of a gray dawn in the middle of winter. 

They stood like this for a moment, with Draco momentarily disarmed. He couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked in the dim candlelight that danced over her smooth features. She looked so different from the time he'd studied her in the Hospital Wing, and she looked more luminous than ever. Her eyes were the deepest, softest brown, like melted chocolate that spoke volumes and seemed to see right through him. Was this the nature of her kind? 

Grabbing on to his last vestiges of cold indifference and the walls he had already recognized as his own, he glared back at her, willing her to leave before he gave in to his weakness. 

Before he gave in to his intense feelings for her. 

When had it all started? When had the thin line of pure hate been crossed, into the boundaries of love? When did he begin to love her? Was it when all his hate and his anger had been drained away, leaving the dregs of true feelings that he had left? 

He spoke before he realized he'd done so. "I shouldn't have come out here." 

"Why?" her query was soft, almost like a caress. 

He stared hard at her, searching her eyes for the answer as to why these feelings were suddenly upon him. "What are you doing to me, Drusilla?" he had come out here because he couldn't stand to sleep in the room where he'd almost had sex with Pansy. It made him feel…filthy. 

It wasn't like this before, he knew. He didn't care how many he bedded, as long as he was happy. And he'd never thrown Pansy out on her skinny ass before. So what was so different now? 

The answer came to him almost immediately: _Drusilla. _

She stepped closer to him, until he could smell the pleasant scent of springtime roses on her, her footsteps faltering slightly. "The same thing you are doing to me, Draco." 

She used his first name. Again. 

There was a soft, gentle smile on her face as she took his face in her hands, sensing his inner turmoil. He simply stared at her, not moving a muscle. He wanted to trust, he wanted to love…but could he? It went against everything he'd been brought up to believe, and yet something in him was screaming for it, was yearning for it. 

Torn, he simply watched her even as her smooth, slender fingers—so unlike Pansy's—gently traced his eyebrows, her eyes lighting a little in wonder. Draco felt himself sink even further. He grabbed her slim hands in his, giving in to the fierce longing within him at last. 

Merlin, he loved her so…

His eyes not leaving hers, he brought her palm to his lips, enjoying the feel of her satin skin against his own. She was here, no matter what he'd said to her, the vicious remarks, the cruel insults…she was here. 

But…there was something else. His eyes flashed at the thought, and he squeezed her hand. "What about Potter, Fontaine? Thinking of two-timing?" 

She frowned. "Harry?" then her expression lightened as she realized what he was talking about. "He's my best friend. That's all there really is to it." She paused at his disbelieving look. "It's really not what you think, you know. Earlier in the corridors, all I had wanted to do was to hurt you."

Her eyes were so honest; it was hard even for him to not believe her. 

She rested her other hand on the one that had been squeezing hers, and he noticed that he was gripping it until it was white. But she never flinched. "You can be yourself around me, Draco. You don't have to be afraid, you don't have to pretend, because I see you for who you are." She remembered the time she'd insulted him in Diagon Alley.

He felt vulnerable now, and it was both a strangely pleasant and unpleasant feeling. Swallowing, he spoke his heart. He needed an answer. "Why aren't you walking away from me?" 

"I don't need a reason to stay." 

"Love is a weakness that could get us killed." 

"Your weaknesses are your greatest strengths." She matched him word for word, and he hated that she was right. "I love you." 

He felt momentarily stunned at those three supposedly little words. Countless girls had used it so many times on him that it had no meaning anymore, but to hear her say them, to hear those seemingly meaningless words spill out of her mouth…

"What?" For once, his voice had lost its cool touch, and he allowed himself to hope. She looked into his startled silver eyes, now looking more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him, eyes that now held none of its dark secrets or hidden memories. Her heart warmed at his evident trust. 

He trusted her enough to let go. 

She repeated herself, her voice losing none of its conviction. "I love you, Draco Malfoy."

Draco lowered his head to hers, and their lips met. This time, it was gentle and filled with longing, emotions that were kept deeply hidden until now. He explored her mouth thoroughly, desperately seeking to taste her once more. It had been too long since he'd last kissed those wonderful lips of hers, too long…

She leaned into him, and he absently felt her fingers running through his hair, sending little tendrils spilling down from their normally gelled position. His hand, the one that had rested on the small of her back, pushed her closer to him even as his other hand stroked her side, her neck, then her cheek. 

He felt it then, when she responded to him with fervor. Something that he did not believe that he could ever experience. He felt…love. A warm, gentle feeling that spread through him, and he made a small sound in his throat at the wonderful sensations. 

__

Was it supposed to be like this, then? This thought belonged to the both of them as they gave themselves to the moment, kissing and caressing in front of the Slytherin dormitory, not caring anymore as to who saw them. All that mattered were each other. 

All that mattered was love, burning brightly in the darkness, within the two people who were as different as night and day. 

But reality was not to be outdone by the sweet realization of love and passion. Within the shadows of the dormitory, a lone figure watched. 

And seethed. 

***

"Good morning, guys!" Drusilla chirped with a wide grin, joining them at the table. They were halfway through their breakfast, and Harry was still bleary eyed after the especially rigorous practice Wood had put them through last night. He could barely keep awake, and kept nodding off. Ron was yawning, and Hermione was poring over her books. All in all, it was a less than energetic team that greeted her this lovely morning. 

"Morning," Ron yawned and stretched, nearly knocking Harry's glasses off. "Thank God it's Saturday. At least I don't have to deal with Potions lessons for two days." 

"Morning, Dru." Hermione peered at her curiously. "You're strangely chipper today. What were you doing last night?" 

"What?" Drusilla raised an eyebrow. 

The bushy haired girl smiled faintly and tapped her quill thoughtfully against her book. "I saw you go out at eleven thirty, and it was close to three when you returned. What were you doing?" 

Goodness, had she been making out with Draco for four straight hours? It all seemed so…fast, though, come to think of it. But then she couldn't exactly say that, could she? They had vowed to keep their current relationship a secret, because they both knew that there was so much to lose if word got out that they were involved. "I was in the kitchens eating," she replied, hoping that they did not see through her lie. "I didn't eat anything for dinner yesterday, you know."

Hermione looked knowing. "Oh. Okay." 

Drusilla squirmed under her gaze. Did she see the particularly steamy kiss she and Draco both shared in front of the Fat Lady portrait when he walked her back to her dorm? But it couldn't be possible, could it? She was an elf, after all, and would most certainly hear her if she was anywhere nearby. 

Harry looked confused at the sudden amount of questioning Hermione had heaped on her, but chose to say nothing as he spooned through his cornflakes. Well, at least Drusilla was back to her old self now, not dreaming or staring into space like what she'd done since the beginning of the school term. 

That was good, wasn't it?

But why did he feel as though he should be disappointed? 

***


	6. Of Hidden Threats and Unknown Dangers

Hey everyone, it's me again! I know, I haven't been updating this like a good little writer, but between balancing jobs and my social life, I simply did not have time to put up this story. Well here it is, a lovely one for all you darling readers out there! And please, please just review and tell me what you think about it, I need the incentive to keep this story going. 

Anyway, this is specially for the ever-lovely **Astronema**, who read my Haldir ficcy conscientiously and THIS one too without failing to give me reviews! Also specially to **shadowofadoubt72** and **hurdlingbaybe06** , you guys are the ones who kept me writing, as well as **bebop, nittynoodle, gooniebabe, Aiwen, booble, Cranberry_gal,** I seriously love you guys!

Fire. 

There was fire and darkness all around her. She was running, she could feel it, the breath burning her lungs, her terror, thicker than the veils of blackness surrounding her. Terror sliced through her veins, and she forced herself to turn back, turn to see what she was running from. What she saw almost made her pass out. 

It was a large demon thing, full of flame and fury and madness. Large, curled horns protruded from its massive head, and when it roared, an earth-shattering roar, she could see the fiery teeth that gleamed within. _Am I in Hell? _It sure looked very much like it. 

__

Runrunrunrun!

She could barely make out the figures running all around her, but she was positive that she was not alone. Where was she? What was happening? Then all of a sudden, there was black and silence. 

__

"You cannot PASS!!" An enraged bellow sounded from the unnatural stillness, and she almost jumped. Who had said that? She squinted to see into black hole that had loomed before her, and all she could make out was a tiny but extremely bright light. She heard the monster's enraged bellow. Was the little light hurting it? It was impossible, judging from that thing's size. Fighting down a wave of nausea that threatened to sweep through her, Drusilla concentrated. She had to know what was going on. 

Then, a sudden wave of grief and horror overwhelmed her, sending her reeling. It was so pure, so powerful...And it seemed to come from her. Even now, her mind was screaming. _Gandalf!!!!_

"GANDALF!!" Drusilla bolted awake with a scream, her bedclothes drenched in sweat. Her chest was heaving violently, and her breath was coming in loud wheezes. It took a few moments to realize where she really was. In the pitch blackness of her room, she almost thought that she was still in that hellhole. But no. She glanced around; even in the darkness, she had amazing eyesight and was able to see the interior of her room perfectly well. 

__

It was just a dream, she thought, putting her head in her hands. The sadness, the grief she'd felt still lingered, and she was surprised to feel something hot and wet on her fingers. She was crying. Feeling terribly shaken, she allowed herself a few moments to gather herself. Wiping away at her tears and wondering where the hell those extreme emotions came from and who this thing or person called Gandalf was, she stopped short. 

And it came all too clear to her: It was no dream. It was a vision. 

A vision in Middle-Earth in her sleep. 

__

But why am I crying? She wondered, frowning. Was she in some way tied to someone there? The visions she'd always had had involved looking through someone's eyes. And the sudden well of emotions was too impossible to be her own. The question was, who the hell was she tied to? Why forge such a bond in the first place? Was this all Sauron's doing? She tightened her hold on her head, trying to get rid of the incessant throbbing that sent blunt pinpricks of pain into her nerves. By Merlin, this was bloody awful. There were so many questions reeling in her pain-filled head, and yet, there was no one around to answer them. 

She stared up at the ceiling as she slowly lay back down on the bed, suddenly weary, pulling her covers up to her chin in a child-like effort to maybe protect herself from other bad dreams--visions--she might encounter again tonight. She was sleepy, and this was not helping any. Her last thought, before finally drifting off, mentally and emotionally spent, was: _Is Middle-Earth beckoning me?_

***

Hermione peered at Drusilla closely, a frown etched on her pretty features. "You look like you ran a marathon the whole of last night." 

__

You don't even know the half of it, Drusilla thought ironically. "You might be half right. I was doing dream running for the most part of last night, and when I finally got sleep, it was time to wake up again after a bloody half hour." She made no effort to stifle a giant yawn this time, exhaling loudly and startling a couple of first years as they walked past. 

Hermione looked pointedly at her, but Drusilla ignored it; she knew Hermione hated bad manners in the halls. Especially since she was a Prefect now, of all things. Drusilla had never stopped wondering what had possessed her foster sister to take up that responsibility, but she supposed that it was her inner McGonagall manifesting itself, and left it at that. Truthfully speaking, she seriously did not want to know. 

Hermione was the one who spoke next, unable to contain her curiosity. "Dream running? Sounds serious." 

"You bet it is," The other girl sighed and hugged herself momentarily. "I was having a vision, and it was really bad. As in the worst ever. And I woke up crying like there was no tomorrow." She looked a little awkward. "And I screamed out something called Gandalf when I woke." She shuddered a little at the memory. "It was so sad, and I felt as if I really knew him. Or it. Or whatever." 

"Tell me about it." 

"Promise not to laugh and call me stupid?" 

"When have I ever done that?" 

"Do you want me to answer that, or should I just glare?" There were many times in the past where Drusilla would have very strange dreams, dreams of children who looked slightly like adults and had huge, very furry feet running around green pastures and smoking huge pipes that really stank, and Hermione had just laughed. 

This time, she at least had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'm sorry, all right? Now can you tell me?" Apparently, her curiosity was killing her. 

Drusilla took a deep breath. _Here goes. _"I was running. Really fast. Then there was something really large and awful coming after me, roaring and thundering, and when I turned to have a look, it was the most horrible creature I'd ever seen." She described the entire dream to her, leaving nothing out. 

When she was done, Hermione was quiet. Drusilla could almost see the wheels turning in her brain. "Hmm." 

"That's _all _you can say? _'Hmm'_?" 

"I'm _thinking._" 

"Unless you're prepared for disappointments, don't think. All those impossible questions reel around in your head and you'll go mad when you realize that there's no answer at all for you." she said grimly. "I've been through that, just last night." 

"We _have_ to find out where your dreams are coming from." This time, Hermione looked really concerned. 

"This much is true; it all came from Middle-Earth." She'd almost said 'my home', but did not. For all intents and purposes, Middle-Earth had never been, and would never be considered her home. "And trust me, you'll never find anything in those dusty books in the library." She stated once more, seeing the gleam in the other girl's eye. "Not even the wizards in the world know that there is such a place as Middle-Earth." 

"Well, Dumbledore does." Hermione pointed out. 

"Yes, well, unless he's been there personally before and learned about the people there, I don't think he'll be much help." 

She had a point. 

"Oh all right," Hermione replied, shaking her head. Drusilla could be strange, sometimes. "Have it your way, then." 

Just then, Draco Malfoy and his ever-present cronies Crabbe and Goyle turned a corner and were walking towards them. Despite her current mood, Drusilla felt her heart--considerably light suddenly--skip several beats when she laid eyes on him. He was as handsome was usual, slate gray eyes emotionless--a far cry from the almost-warm, vulnerable ones she'd seen the other night. In fact, seeing him now made her wonder at the astounding change. How could he be one person to her and another person to the rest of the world? 

She was glad that Hermione hadn't noticed the sudden colour rushed from all parts of her body to her cheeks. By Merlin, did Draco _have _to be so handsome and unflappable? 

"Oh, great. The ferret and his boneheads." Hermione muttered disgustedly under her breath. "I knew this day was just too good to be true." 

When Draco saw Drusilla, he simply looked through her, steadfastly ignoring the fact that his body had automatically clamored to be close to her once more, even as his mind remembered dizzily all the things that had happened the other night. It was so very annoying, yet very pleasant at the same time. _Is she blushing?_ He forced himself to stay cool as they drew closer; it would be disastrous if any of their companions knew what was going on between them. 

Drusilla silently wondered how he could stay so composed and so...Malfoy while her heart was almost pounding in her ears. He was so close now, all she had to do was reach out and she could touch him. And yet, he stared through them as if they were not there. His manner, so cold and so faraway, almost made her wonder if the other night was nothing but a dream, but even as he passed by her, barely brushing past the other and each of their companies looking straight ahead, pointedly ignoring the other, she felt his cool hand brush past her own, sending electric tingles up her spine. She remembered how those hands had pulled her roughly to him to taste her lips, to mark her as his...

She felt the dry texture of a small piece of parchment in her hand, and her mouth immediately went as dry as it. He had slipped a note into her hand. _Slick._

And he did it all even without acknowledging either of them at all. Even managing to shoot the two of them a look of utmost disdain as they passed. She quickly slipped the note into her pocket, wondering and extremely eager what it was about. On the other hand, she was hoping that it wasn't anything bad. Hermione hadn't seen the movement, of course, as she was gazing after Draco, an expression of bewilderment on her face. "That's strange." 

Drusilla swallowed. Surely she didn't know the truth? "What is?" 

"Malfoy. He didn't even throw an insult at us this time." 

__

Oh, God. "S-surely it's a good thing? I didn't know you looked forward to him insulting you." 

"Of course not! It's just strange, that's all." She cast one more look at their retreating backs, and Drusilla heaved a silent sigh of relief as the other girl turned back and frowned. "Where's Ron? He should be here by now." 

***

It was quite awhile before Drusilla finally got some time to herself. Back in her own room now during lunchtime, she heaved a sigh of relief and sat down in front of her plain dresser. Opening the note quickly, she read the neat, loopy characters on the piece of paper. It was in silvery green, and it shimmered in the light. 

__

Drusilla: 

Meet me in the Astrology tower tonight. I have to see you. 

Drusilla read the note again, wondering what it was all about, and she couldn't help but feel a little twinge of excitement. She was finally going to see him tonight. Although it had been less than forty-eight hours since their last meeting, she really wanted to see him once more. Her heartbeat quickened at the fact that in less than six hours, she was going to meet him again. Somehow, a part of her wished that they could be like normal couples in Hogwarts, where their relationships were no secret, but still. It thrilled her, knowing that theirs was a forbidden love. It made her feel reckless, somehow. 

She neatly folded the note back and slipped it into a little carved wooden box that sat on her dresser. She would keep this. Just then, a tawny brown school owl swooped silently in through the window, almost startling her, and dropped something on her lap before swooping out again, not even pausing for a treat, which was very odd. 

Surprised, she looked down at her lap to see that the bird had left a white rose for her. Just like that, a pure white rose, no notes, no mention where it was from. The stalk was surprisingly smooth, with only the mild scars on it to show where the thorns used to be. The petals were, each of them, perfect and milky white and incredibly soft to the touch. The beautiful rose filled the entire room with a sweet smell, and she smiled, despite herself. It was perfect. 

__

Of course. Draco. 

Her smile widened. How had he known that at that exact time she was in her room? And despite the simplicity of the flower, she thought it the most exquisite gift she'd ever received.

***

She could stay calm no longer. "_And that is what I fucking saw!_" 

Pansy leapt up from her seat, clearly in a rage. "How dare he? They were swallowing each other's tonsils in the middle of the Slytherin passageway! I can't believe that Draco dumped me for her. For that bitch! For that _dumb _bitch!" Her face contorted in fury as her eyes glittered strangely. "That fucking _bitch_! I'm going to get her one day!" 

Blaise Zabini reclined in his couch lazily, barely batting an eyelid. He was bored. Parkinson had been going on and on about the same crap ever since he'd entered the common room, and for the millionth time, he wondered why he even bothered listening to her in the first place. Running a hand through his ebony hair, he shrugged. "Whatever, Parkinson." 

Pansy glared at him, feeling more incensed than ever. Since when did Zabini get off dismissing her like that? _Since forever, that's when_. Her mind replied. Blaise Zabini did things as he wished and went where he liked. And having exceedingly good looks had helped alot. Blaise was a nice mix of Asian and British, his mother having been Asian. The way his dark hair fell over his forehead carelessly had always been a hot point for all the girls he'd brought to bed. In most ways, he was like Draco; his innocent, perfect looks belied a dangerous nature. 

Maybe that was why the two of them were best friends. 

__

Birds of a feather flock together, she thought disdainfully, but she couldn't help but be taken in by Blaise at the same time. True, he could never quite match up to Ice Prince of Slytherin Draco Malfoy, but he was close. 

"Don't look at me like that, Parkinson." Blaise said shortly. "I don't do sluts." 

The insult should have stung, but Pansy had her mind on other things. More important things. "I should get rid of her," she mused aloud, going through all the ways to kill a person in Hogwarts without Dumbo knowing all about it. 

"You think?" Blaise asked, his dark eyes glinting with cold amusement. "You don't even know how to master a hex properly, much less kill someone with it." 

"There are many other ways to kill a person, Zabini," Pansy began smoothly, then threw herself down onto the couch. "I DON'T CARE! I want my Drakie back! I want him to fuck my brains out like he did last time!" 

"God," Blaise made a disgusted face and got off the cushion at once. "Shut your big gob, Pansy. All you care about are dicks." 

Pansy leered. "Why? You have a problem with that? Draco's happens to be the best one I've ever had." She looked meaningfully at him and raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "Unless you want me to do yours?" 

"I'd rather let a Hippogriff do me." he sneered. "No wonder Draco dumped you like a hot potato. Anyone would." With that, he strode out of the room. He had much better things to do. 

***

"Hey, Harry!" Drusilla flounced into his room with a broad smile on her face. Harry stared at her in surprise. Not that he wasn't glad to see her, but girls, as a general rule, were not allowed into boys' rooms. Especially not when he was about to go to sleep. She seemed to be very happy about something, though, and he wondered what it was. It had to be important, for her to enter his room at this time of night. 

Kicking back the covers and getting quickly to his feet, he was only vaguely aware of the worn pajamas he was wearing, and Drusilla didn't seem to notice his state of dress-- or undress, for that matter--at all. 

"What is it, Dru?" He asked, noting that she looked even more beautiful than usual. She was smiling, and Harry thought that she had the most beautiful smile ever. He always had, and would always think so. 

"I need you to lend me your Invisibility Cloak," she said, lowering her voice a little so that no one outside the door heard. 

"Sure. What for?" He moved over to his chest to retrieve his cloak without hesitation. 

She shuffled a little, looking mildly uncomfortable for a moment. "I uh, I need to head down to the kitchens. To eat. Because I'm hungry." she inwardly winced at how choppy it sounded. Harry was bound to suspect something. As if she hadn't felt horrible enough lying to her best friend already. "And I can't risk Filch catching me. You know him." she forced a laugh, feeling worse than ever when Harry handed the cloak to her with a trusting grin. 

"All right. Here you go. Just remember to pass it back to me tomorrow." 

"O-okay, thanks. Alot." She reached out and took the cloak gratefully, flashing another smile at him and sending his heart skipping. "You have no idea how much I owe you." 

"Think nothing of it," he said sincerely. "Go on, then. You must be famished." 

"Oh. Right. Thanks once again, Harry." She headed back for the door. "Sorry for disturbing you, though." 

"It's quite all right, really." _In fact, it's more than all right_, he thought wistfully. "You're welcome to barge in anytime." 

"You're a great person, you know that?" Drusilla stood just at his door and turned to look at him. "Good night." 

"Good night, Dru." He replied warmly, and even as he watched her leave with a bittersweet pang that shot through him, he succumbed to a sudden, irrational urge to tell her how he felt about her. She looked so beautiful tonight. _Doesn't she always?_ "Dru?" 

She turned again. "Yes?" 

But seeing her faintly expectant look, he felt himself chickening out again, cursing himself for thinking of such a stupid idea in the first place. "Oh. No. I-it's nothing." He couldn't tell her. He didn't dare to. 

Especially when he inwardly knew that she treated him as her best friend, nothing more. 

Drusilla shook her head and laughed softly, apparently misreading his reaction. "Don't worry, I'll bring back your cloak safe and undamaged to you in the morning. I owe you this much at least."

He nodded silently, unable to trust himself to speak. _She's so lovely, with a lovely character, too._

But then again, so what if he was just her best friend? It was better than nothing, and he could hope that it would grow into something more for her someday. 

__

Someday. 

***

Drusilla moved swiftly along the empty passageway, her footsteps leaving no sound on the ground. She was getting much better at creeping past corridors, she realized. Maybe it was part of being an Elf thing. Clutching the cloak close to her and hoping that Mrs. Norris or the cantankerous Filch wasn't anywhere nearby and would accidentally bump into her or something, she headed towards the Astronomy tower, unable to contain the excitement that was rising slowly within her. She was finally able to be with Draco at last, if only for an hour or two, at most. 

She was mulling on this when something seemed to brush past her. It was the softest of touches, like the rustle of cloth on skin as it brushed slightly across the cloak she was wearing, but it was over just as quickly, and Drusilla had been so deep in her thoughts that she wondered if it was just her imagination. A quick look around yielded nothing, and she was convinced that it was just the wind. 

Thinking nothing more about it, she moved on quietly. 

***

When she reached, however, there was no one there, save for the brilliant light of the moon that spilled its beams onto the smooth floor. Drusilla was casually slipping out of the Invisibility Cloak and making doubly sure that it wasn't in any way damaged when soft footsteps sounded out of the shadows. She stiffened for a moment, wondering if it was Filch, then relaxed a little after a while. The footsteps were too light to be his. 

It was Draco. 

He stepped quietly out of the shadow, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his cool gray eyes unreadable in the moonlight. His platinum hair shone starkly, and he looked almost otherworldly as he stepped towards her, his eyes never leaving hers. 

"Nice cloak." He drawled, glancing at what she was holding. He looked even more wonderful up close. "Does the speccy git know you're here?" 

Despite herself, Drusilla stiffened, feeling a little annoyed. What was it with him that he'd hated Harry so much? "Harry's my good friend." 

"That doesn't make me like him any better." Something unreadable flashed in his eyes for a moment, then it was gone. He leaned against the pillar casually, trying not to think about how sexy she looked even in that plain dressing gown. 

Drusilla crossed her arms over her chest. "Did you ask me to come here just so that you can pick a fight with me? And no, he doesn't know." 

He ignored her question, and a smirk tugged at his lips. "Ah, I suppose you lied to him." _Because of me. She lied to the Harry bloody Potter for me. _The thought was stupid, really, but it gave him a strange sense of triumph. 

"If you'll excuse me, I feel awful enough already." She muttered, shifting from foot to foot and looking guilty. A flash of jealousy welled up within Draco when he saw her expression. Drusilla obviously cared a lot for the git to feel bad about a little lie. _How much does she care for him, really?_

He decided that he didn't really want to know the answer, frustrated that he himself cared enough to even be jealous. It was a new emotion for him, and it galled him that he didn't know how to react to it. 

Draco suddenly moved over and gripped her wrist tightly. "Don't talk to me about how you feel about Harry bloody Potter when we're together." 

Stunned momentarily by his sudden, unexpected action, she looked up at him blankly. His grip was so painful. "What do you mean? And let go of me, you're hurting me." 

He let go immediately, but he stood glaring at her. Drusilla looked more mystified than ever. What was he going on about? "I told you, Harry's only my good friend." She peered at him, looking slightly amused. "What, are you jealous?" 

__

Yes. "Of course not. Why would I be jealous of _him_?" he sneered. It was a lie, of course, but he certainly did not want to admit it, even to himself. 

"I don't know. _You_ tell me." She looked at him curiously. "You're the one who gets all worked up when I talk about Harry." 

She was right. He hated it, but she was right. Why did she have to be so infuriatingly astute? For a moment, Draco wondered what had possessed him to even get together with her, but even as he thought so, his answer came swiftly to him the moment he looked down at her. The moonlight cast shadows on her face, making it look even more exquisite, and the smile tugging at her lips made him gaze at them hungrily. It had been a long time since he'd kissed her, he noted. 

Deciding that words were definitely not needed this time, he pulled her to him and kissed her passionately, reveling in the welcome warmth of her mouth. She tasted as sweet as ever, and his kisses grew more demanding, plundering her mouth with a sweet vengeance even as she yielded to him at last, her kisses matching his one for one. And despite himself, he knew that he was lost within her arms, all he felt was her touch, burning him and searing at the wall of ice in his heart. God, did she know what she was doing to him? All the same, he decided that he didn't really care. 

He wanted—no, _needed—_her. 

All of her. Her body, her heart, her mind. He wanted her to be his. Only his. She was the only person who could make him feel so happy and angry at the same time, whose love slowly began to matter to him, because somewhere, somewhere, he understood that this was much more than lust. It was something that ran deeper, but he had yet to properly understand it. 

He held her tighter, enough to bruise her, but she made no complaint. Her arms tightened around him, and his lips left hers to trail down her chin and her neck. Her skin was smooth as silk, and it inflamed his senses. Planting a soft kiss and nip at the base of her neck, he could feel the material of her gown, rough in comparison to the satiny feel of her skin. 

Suddenly feeling the urge to explore more of her, his lips lingered at her neck as his fingers began to unbutton the material. She made no move to stop him, and he continued. 

The first button, then the second. The pearly fairness of her skin seduced him, and as he unbuttoned the third, his breath got caught in his throat. He had seen many breasts in his time as playboy before, but none of them were this perfect. She wore a bra, of course, but it only served to make them more tempting. Her chest was heaving, and a pink flush stole across her skin. 

"You're so beautiful," he murmured as his lips moved up to kiss her deeply once more, his fingers coaxing a plump breast out of the cotton holder. Her soft moan at the feeling almost undid him, and he kissed her once more, passionate in his urgency. His fingers stroked at her nipple, relishing how quickly it turned hard at his touch. 

Then she stopped him. Literally did. Gently, she caught his hand and pushed it down gently. The rebuff was tender, and he was surprised to find that he did not mind. He moved slightly away from her, looking surprised. She smiled and shook her head, expertly buttoning up her gown. 

"Not yet, Draco." She whispered. 

"Of course." He lowered his head to hers and claimed her mouth once more. 

***

Neither of them noticed the figure, standing barely ten meters from them. The figure, cloaked similarly in an Invisibility cloak, had come in time to find the two of them making out. The figure had watched them for a long while now, listening in to the hushed conversation and secretly making plans. Fury once again bubbled to the surface, and the figure struggled to keep them down. Now was surely not the time. No, not now. The figure had almost risked being found out when it had seemed to brush past invisible Drusilla earlier, and it was relieved that she'd not suspected a thing. 

It stood there, calculating its next move. There was no time for fruitless anger now. It was time to plot revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge.

__

Sorry, Draco, it thought, staring coldly at the two of them. _I didn't want to, at first. But now you leave me no choice. _

It smiled as the all too familiar red mark burned into its skin tingled ever so slightly. Yes, there was much it had to do. 

Turning, it left. Hopefully, there would still be an owl awake at this time. 

***

The stars were extremely beautiful tonight. Draco and Drusilla lounged carelessly on the parapet of the Tower, with Draco keeping a discreet eye on her to ensure that she would not topple off suddenly, since it was a long way down, after all. All was peaceful and silent, and even Filch behaved himself by staying around his office, which was on the other side of the school. 

Aware of the passage of time and that he had to leave very soon, he studied her profile silently as she looked up at the stars, the moon casting its full glow on her, look like an angel. 

He was suddenly reminded of when he'd watched her sleep in the Hospital Wing just a week ago. Strange how it seemed so faraway now. For a few moments, he simply wanted time to stop, so he could just stay here with her forever, just watching her, no pretenses, no need to descend into the dark bubble he'd grown up in and had known all his life. This was one of the rare times when shadows of his father had not haunted his thoughts. It was all so refreshing when he found that he could just throw that burden—the burden of striving not to be _anything_ like his father—away and just concentrate on Drusilla. She had that peaceful quality about her, something that assured him that with her around, everything would be fine. Of course he would not tell her that. Not yet, anyway. Their relationship—or whatever it was now—had just begun, and everything was still shaky. And there was that fact that they weren't supposed to be involved with each other in the first place. 

Everything was so complicated. But in the midst of it all, this was the simplest. Just him and her. The intensity of his feelings for her scared him, but it seemed to pull him closer to her at the same time. 

"Nice night, isn't it?" she said softly, her words a whisper in the soft breeze. 

Draco nodded. He'd always loved the night since he was a child as it was the only time that he would feel safe from his father, and there was something special about sitting with Drusilla right now in the silence of the Astronomy Tower, sharing the beauty of the stars with her. 

"It's getting late." He said finally, drawing her attention. "We have to leave very soon." 

Beside him, she sighed, and nodded. "You're right." 

"Are you going down to Hogsmeade later?" 

"Yes, why?" 

Realizing how stupid his question sounded: What was he expecting, a date where everyone in Hogwarts could see them? He shook his head. It was just not possible. "Nothing." 

It was strange how he had to creep around with a girl in the late hours of the night and whom he couldn't see as and when he liked. Most of the girls he had hung on his elbow whenever he went; there were no secrets. The feeling of strangeness was compounded further when he realized that he genuinely wanted to see her as much as he possibly could. _How ironic,_ he thought sardonically._ I have to fall for a girl that I can't have. _

He got up and held out his hand to her. "It's time. Let's get back." 

***

Even as Drusilla entered her room, she caught sight of the school owl perched there, clearly having delivered a message and was looking for a treat. Smiling to herself she reached into a drawer and took out an Owl Treat. The owl hooted softly in thanks and flew off. She glanced down to see what it had left behind, and was pleasantly surprised to see another white rose lying on the able, perfect in its pale beauty. 

__

Two roses in a day, she mused, lifting the exquisite flower to her nose and inhaled its wonderful scent. _I always knew Draco Malfoy had a romantic streak in him. _

Content, she placed the rose into a vase and admired it for a moment before turning to her bed, barely noticing that on the Quidditch pitch directly below, someone else was watching her every move. 

***

"We've only got two minutes before I've got to join my friends later," Drusilla managed to whisper raggedly as she adjusted herself so Draco could kiss her again. It was no mean feat, given the size of the horrid broom closet—but it was the only option, since there were no empty classrooms available—and there was the fact that if it had not been for Draco putting a locking spell on the doorknob of the closet, chances were they'd be found out in no time.

After all, the broom closet was very popular with the couples in Hogwarts. 

Her lover growled softly under his breath as he trailed hot kisses down the side of her neck, his slender fingers caressing and gentle but insistent, catching slightly on the folds of her uniform. "Skip the stupid trip to Hogsmeade, then. All I feel like doing is to keep kissing you." 

A delicious trickle of excitement rushed through her, coupled by the thrill and pleasure of kissing him almost made her want to succumb to his request. But the more sensible—realistic part of her railed at the very idea. She hated to let him down, but if she continued staying here, people were bound to get suspicious. She, like him, couldn't risk being found out, because so much was at stake here. Her friends, Gryffindor, his own circle of people he called friends, his House…

"I can't," she replied as soon as he allowed her to catch her breath. She fought to stay focused on what she was about to say—he was nipping softly at her ear, very distracting and pleasuring, that. "You know I can't, Draco. And besides, you ditched Crabbe and Goyle. It's unheard of in Hogwarts." 

"It's worth it," he flashed her a wicked smirk before pulling back a little and resting both hands possessively on her waist, obviously marking her as his. "Did you know how much you've tempted me this morning?"

She knew. He barely took his eyes off her in the Great Hall early this morning, she caught him looking over at her on more than a few occasions. And just for the heck of it, he would purposely brush past her, apparently enjoying her look of surprise as his skin brushed against hers in a supposed innocuous way.

"That's the whole point, isn't it?" she murmured absently, wishing that she could simply stay in here, in this moment, where she wouldn't have to eventually go out and face the world again. It was so simple here, just two people in love with each other, with no seemingly horrendous backlashes from the people around. 

She wished that it would forever stay this way, only the two of them, where nothing could ever come between them, where nothing mattered save for each other…

He gently stroked the side of her cheek, his cool gray eyes watching her carefully. Ever since his confession that he loved her the other night, he had been feeling a whole lot of really pleasant, wonderful feelings that he couldn't possibly begin to put into words, especially when she was around, but he, too, had this urge not to release her from his grip ever, for fear that she might slip away from him and never return. 

__

I will never let her go, he promised himself, his grip on her waist unconsciously tightening. She would always be his. His own. 

He only hoped that her feelings for him were true. 

"What are you thinking of?" he questioned, searching her beautiful chocolate brown eyes for an answer. They shimmered with an almost otherworldly light, and he was reminded once again that she was no ordinary human. A gentle glow seemed to radiate around her, made evident by the darkness of the broom closet, making her seem like a being from the heavens. 

__

Maybe she is, he thought, wondering how she could ever love a person like him. 

Her wistful expression slipped away, and she smiled up at him. "Come on, we really have to go, or they'll start getting suspicious." 

Knowing that she had a point, he reluctantly released her and magically uncharmed the door, not wanting to think about the momentary flare of intense jealousy when he thought about Potty being so close to her the whole day. "I'll come a little later." 

"Are you going to Hogsmeade, too?" she asked. 

He nodded. "Yes. Perhaps I'll be at the Three Broomsticks."

"Is this your idea of asking me out on a date, Draco Malfoy?" she baited teasingly. 

"You know we can't have a date there. But that doesn't mean I can't see you. But I'll figure something out." 

She smiled, and he caught the quiet suggestion there. "At three?" 

"At three." He promised, tucking his wand back into his robes and giving her his best mock-glare. "Go on now, before I give in to my hormones and never let you out of this closet." 

She was about to open the door when he caught her hand and said, "Wait. Let me kiss you again." 

Drusilla put a finger to his lips and shook her head, her eyes twinkling. "We both know that if I do that, none of us will be leaving this place in a hurry. See you, Draco." 

She grinned at him and made off down the corridor, leaving Draco with a strangely cold and empty feeling in his stomach in her wake, as if she was the only one who carried the flame of life into his world, and that when she left, all that was remaining was darkness. 

A bittersweet ache echoed in his heart as he stood in the closet for a long while, mulling over the sudden influx of totally unfamiliar feelings and emotions, and wondering if they could keep their forbidden love a secret forever. 

It was all so wrong, all this. But why did it seem like the sweetest, most _right_ thing to do in the world? 

****

"Here you are!" Hermione admonished, looking flustered. "Where have you been all morning? We've been trying to find you!" 

Uh oh. What was she supposed to say? Drusilla paused for a short moment, thinking fast. "I uh, was up in my dorm, getting some stuff down." She said vaguely, deciding that she would be damned if any of them asked what she was taking. 

To her immense relief, Filch came rambling out at that moment, muttering under his breath about darned students and checking the students thoroughly to ensure that no stragglers were coming along. 

"I've got to make a trip to Zonko's," Ron was saying eagerly, his freckly but handsome face glowing in excitement. "I've heard from Fred and George that they've got Exploding Chocolates!"

"Brilliant!" Harry nodded enthusiastically. "I've always wanted to try one of those. Are they any good?" 

"You bet! Neville accidentally tried it once and it exploded in his mouth. He almost choked on the chocolate, though. Went down too fast, I suppose." He looked extremely amused at that. 

Hermione looked grossed out and shook her curls impatiently. "Are there any shops you go to except for Zonko's?"

"Oh, come on, 'Mione, be a sport. It's not that often that we are free of homework!" 

Hermione gave him a look that reminded all of them of McGonagall when she was mad about something. "And that is supposed to be good? How could we possibly learn all the lessons then if we have no homework?" 

"You don't have to, 'Mione," Harry said seriously, his eyes sparkling. "You're already the top girl in the class. Not even Malfoy can throw you off." 

__

Malfoy. Drusilla resisted a delicious little shudder when she heard his name, and immediately, the precious few moments they spent kissing came flooding back to her. Merlin, he was a fantastic kisser. Automatically, she tiptoed and craned her neck—trying not to look too obvious about it at the same time—and tried to locate him. For some strange reason, she felt a rather intense urge to just see him once more. 

It was quite awhile before she could do it, but then she finally located him standing near a knot of Slytherins. His old manner was back, and the Draco she had seen earlier when they were alone was totally gone. He was the same old Draco, arrogant and derisive and wondrously unreachable. Fleetingly, she couldn't help but wonder if the Draco earlier was simply a façade he put up just for her, then snuffed it away just as quickly. 

The easy way he slipped from caring Draco to the old Draco Malfoy was a little disturbing, but she shook her head. What was she even thinking about? She too was trying to keep up an image, that she hated Draco's guts, that she was not going out with anyone and definitely not in love with the most stunning boy in all of Hogwarts. But still, it was all so strange. She knew, by looking at all the other girls with their boyfriends, that she could not possibly dream for a normal relationship with someone like him. But she could always hope, couldn't she? It always seemed as if he'd been hiding many things about himself from her, but she supposed again that maybe he'd tell her when the time was right. 

Would he? She did not even know whether their relationship could have any end. A Malfoy and _her_? 

Technically, it bordered close to being ultimately impossible. Even after Voldemort's death, she still felt a certain distance wedging in between her and Draco. 

After all, evil would never be truly gone…would it? 

Her heart skipped a beat as she came to a realization, would Draco follow in his father's footsteps? Would he try to raise Voldemort? It occurred to her then that she didn't know much about his family background and him, in general, like what he liked and disliked, what made him angry or happy, all that. So what exactly was she doing? Why was she still so in love with him? 

She jumped out of her thoughts as she felt a gentle warm hand lay on her shoulder. She looked up, startled, and saw Harry's concerned eyes bearing down on hers. "Are you all right, Dru? You look a little out of it." 

Recovering nicely, she cleared her throat and nodded, trying hard not to avert her gaze and hoping that somehow, Draco was watching her or something. "I-I'm fine," she said honestly. "Just a little…tired, I guess." 

He looked at her closely for a moment, not quite believing her tale, but then, to his credit, he simply nodded and flashed her a charmingly boyish smile, the shadows that had always lingered in his eyes were gone. "Well, don't be too tired," he said jovially. "You're going to be stuck with me after the trip to Zonko's. Ten Galleons Ron will go off somewhere with Hermione after that." 

She forced her thoughts away from Draco and mustered a wry smile at her friend. "I don't have that much Galleons, you know."

***

The trip to Zonko's was an uneventful one, with Drusilla purchasing a few of the candy coated quills that were meant to be sucked on in class and a little bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Harry had insisted on getting her a bag of those sweet little red and white lollipops that she couldn't afford but really fancied. She'd declined, but he'd bought it for her all the same when she wasn't looking and slipped it into her bag. So there was nothing she could do save for accept it. 

Hermione bought nothing, but Ron looked like he was having the time of his life, buying a lot of all the trick sweets he could see—the Weasley's were no longer poor, they'd struck it really rich back in the summer hols—and generally annoying his girlfriend (Brilliant! They have Snowball Imps! Want one, 'Mione? These Melting Gummies look delicious!). As predicted, it wasn't long before the two made really embarrassed and hasty exits, saying something about wanting to check out other places and suggesting that they split up so that she and Harry could actually have a chance to see what they wanted to see too.

It did not take a genius to see through them, though. 

"All right then," Harry smirked, flashing her a secret smile as the pair looked for all the world like guilty people. "Enjoy yourselves and all that." 

Ron brightened, waved goodbye and said that they would meet up later for the Feast, then took Hermione's hand and set off in the opposite direction, where Drusilla was positive that no attractions of Hogsmeade were, despite what they said about it. 

Harry and Drusilla were alone again as usual, and the two quietly set off, walking. Harry was usually very quiet, and occasionally, she could see the flitting shadows of the pain and hurt that the horrors of the rather short war with Voldemort and his supporters had still haunted him. It had almost been a year now, and most things had already gone back to what they were before—or rather close to, at least—but she knew that Harry had suffered the most, blaming himself for all the friends that had been lost. The most haunting one had been the first death Harry had witnessed at Voldemort's hand when the Dark Wizard first rose. 

Cedric Diggory. 

She'd never really known Cedric, much less spoken to him at all, but she knew from talk that he was pretty much a decent chap—and in her opinion—the one person who did not deserve death at all. His death had been one that Harry could never forget, no matter how much he tried to conceal it. Drusilla could see the dark shadow in his eyes everytime he lay eyes on the Hufflepuff crest. She, like Ron and Hermione, knew how much it hurt him, but it was immensely frustrating for them because none of them really knew what to do or say to help him get over it, simply because they did not know exactly what he was feeling and thinking. 

But Dumbledore had already counseled them to give him time, because—according to him, time was the only healer for Harry's heart. 

She hoped he was right about this. 

Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she walked silently beside him, secretly marveling at his capacity to really care for his friends and find time for them after all he'd been through. Ginny really had good taste; she would not go wrong being with him. The only problem was to get him to be with her first. 

"I wish Ginny could be here," she spoke before knowing that she even did. Harry glanced at her in surprise, shaken out of his thoughts at the mention of her name. 

"Why?" 

How to go about this? "She likes you a lot, you know." She pointed out delicately. "And she's done more for you than anyone." 

Harry frowned and looked at her closely. "Are you trying to bring us together?" 

__

Busted. Absently, she wished that she had Hermione's subtle flair instead of fumbling around clumsily. "Am I that obvious?" 

He shook his head and sighed. "It's no use, Dru. I don't like her that way. And besides, I've, uh, I've already got someone I really fancy." 

"Really?" she perked up, wanting to know who the lucky girl was. "Who is it? Anyone I know? Let me guess, Padma Patil? Lavender Brown? Or Natasha Henstridge?" She paused for a moment, thinking hard. "She's really decent, you know." 

He turned crimson and looked at her for a long moment. For a second, she could see disappointment flicker across his eyes, then it was gone. "No. Not Padma or any of the above." 

"Then who is it?" She pressed, eager to know. "You can tell me, you know." 

He sighed and watched her face, searching for any sign and feeling the all-too-familiar feeling of heartache weigh heavily upon him like a ton of bricks. After all the subtle hints and what he'd done for her, she still couldn't get it? "Can't you feel it, Dru?" 

She looked blankly at him. "Feel what?" 

He made an impatient snort and turned away, hoping that she did not see his face burning. It was no use. "Nevermind. Leave the subject, please. I don't feel like talking about it." 

Still a little miffed by his words, she nodded. "Okay. I'm sorry." Maybe he was a little touchy about the girl he fancied and didn't want to tell her who it was yet. Well, that was all right with her, considering that she herself was in love with the most unlikely boy in Hogwarts.

"Hey," she said finally, breaking the silence between the two of them once more. "Are you in the mood for a mug of Butterbeer?" she grinned and jingled the coins in her pocket. "My treat this time." 

He brightened a little, to her relief. "Sure, why not?" 

***

"Drakie, wait up, please!" 

Draco stifled a groan at the all-too-familiar whine, and out of habit, stopped to allow Pansy to catch up with him. After all, she was supposed to be his girlfriend. To the public, anyway. It had been fun, but that was before. Before Drusilla. Now, he simply couldn't picture being with Pansy any longer than absolutely necessary. 

And, since his cronies, Zabini, and his other "friends" were with him, it would be highly suspicious for him to throw her off again, considering that he practically dumped Crabbe and Goyle for the whole of this morning. And apparently, Pansy's passion for him hadn't ceased when he threw her ungraciously out of his room. In fact, she seemed to have forgotten it totally. 

Pansy threw herself into his arms and gave him a long, passionate kiss. In front of everyone. "Baby! I've missed you!" 

"Some people have things to do, you know." He told her pointedly, letting her hang onto his arm and noting that Goyle was leering at her. Hell, who wouldn't? She'd changed from the boring school robes into a plunging tank top and an altogether too-short micro-miniskirt that showed off her entire figure and then some, theorizing that being seen in Hogwarts uniform while they were outside was just too gaudy. She was the only one, however. The rest of the Slytherins just couldn't be bothered to change, and then change back again when it was time to go back. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked again. "Aren't you supposed to be off with your friends or something?" 

"I decided to spend today with you, Drakie," she cooed, shooting the rest of them a meaningful look. "Alone, just the two of us." 

"Go ahead, Draco." Zabini said casually, taking the hint and motioning the rest of them along. "See you at school." 

Even his friend, the only one he could almost count on out of all of them, was ditching him. Draco resisted a sigh and braced himself for a whole afternoon of Pansy's intolerable whining. 

"Good," Pansy smiled, pleased. "Let's go to the Three Broomsticks to get Butterbeer, shall we? I'm freezing out here. Then maybe we could get rid of the chill together." She leered at him suggestively and wiggled her hips, leading him away from them. He fought down a swell of disappointment. There went his chance to see Drusilla again later, but then again, appearances mattered, after all. If he kept rejecting Pansy, she would know that something was very wrong, and his secret with Drusilla would not be secret anymore. 

***

Drusilla took off her coat as soon as they found a little booth for themselves, content to be warm once more. The weather outside had gotten chillier and chillier, and though the cold had not gotten to her like it did to most people, she still liked the feeling of being snug and warm rather than walking around outside. 

Harry plopped himself down opposite her and glanced around. "Sure is crowded today, isn't it?" He could just make out the two—obviously new—assistants rushing around serving drinks and food. Nevertheless, the atmosphere inside here was wonderful and almost homey. "I know Christmas is a few months away, but I'm rather inclined to think that in here, it's simply just a few hours away." 

Drusilla laughed. "That's a good one. I'm rather inclined to think that you've gotten unnecessarily introspective out in the cold. Three Broomsticks is no different than the other days." 

"It must be the weather. Would you like anything else to eat or something? I'll order."

"I suppose a Butterbeer and a tuna sandwich would have to do. And don't go getting any ideas, I'm paying." She cast him a mock-glare from her table that made him chuckle. 

"Whatever you say, Dru." He moved towards the bar at the middle of the room, and was glad to see that even when it was packed, he was still able to get around without bumping into people too much. A light feeling rose in his chest, and he couldn't help but think that this was sort of like a date. A quiet meal, just the two of them. It was good. 

Very good. 

Unable to keep a smile off his face, he greeted Madam Rosmerta—who was busy conjuring up more glasses of Butterbeer and lining them up so her assistants would have a better time of swiping them off the table to give to the customers. 

"Why, hello, Harry." Rosmerta broke into a large grin when she saw Harry. She'd always had had a soft spot for him. "Long time no see, young man. My, you grow more handsome with each passing day."

"You too, Madam Rosmerta," he nodded politely to her and flashed her a shy smile. "Can I have two mugs of Butterbeer, a tuna sandwich and a beef sandwich please?" 

"Ah," her shrewd eyes perked up slightly. "You're here with your girlfriend?" 

"With Drusilla." He informed her with a shrug. "I haven't exactly found a girlfriend yet." 

"Well, take your pick, almost every girl wants to be your significant other." 

__

I've already got one in mind, thank you, he thought. _Problem is that she obviously only sees me as a friend._

"Thanks," he said warmly nonetheless as he received the food and drinks on a tray. 

"Enjoy your meal," she called out, then busied herself once more. 

****

"This place is so bloody crowded," Draco snapped irritably, following Pansy into the Three Broomsticks. Why did it have to be so crowded now, of all things? He hated going to places where too many people were around, especially with Pansy, since she never failed to make it a smug point to all of anyone who was noticing that she was his girlfriend. He found it decidedly childish and annoying, but never bothered to say anything about it. 

Pansy stopped and clung onto his arm, giving his cheek a kiss as she did so. "It's to get warm, Drakie," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, then batted her eyelashes at him. "Or did you have other things in mind, hmm?" 

He would stick with the Three Broomsticks any day. 

There, he finally located an empty table, and Pansy pounced on it like a hawk. It was placed a little away from common view, and he supposed that that was good, but most probably not for Pansy, since she had always liked to flaunt her relationship with him in public. Not to mention in the most embarrassing way possible. 

"Sit down," he instructed her. "I'll get the drinks." 

***

"You won't believe what Pansy Parkinson is wearing in this weather." Harry commented casually. Drusilla, curious at his remark, turned to look. And true to his word, she only seemed to be clad in the smallest midriff known to mankind, and an almost non-existent skirt that was made to catch the attention of everyone, which it obviously did. 

"Maybe she's immune to the cold," she remarked, looking away as soon as Pansy, who was facing her, sent her a dirty glare. It was common knowledge that Pansy Parkinson especially hated Drusilla's guts, so there was no surprise there, and she resumed eating her sandwich, but then something in her mind tugged at her to look back again. 

Which she did, but had immediately regretted. 

Pansy was in a passionate lip-lock with Draco. Yes, it was Draco, she could never have mistaken him anywhere, the gelled hair, the strong, lean back…

She stared, even as a knife of pain slowly edged its way into her heart, sharp and cutting as the moments passed. Was he reciprocating? He seemed to be enjoying it. Pansy's hands were all over him, roaming, roaming… 

How could he do this to her? 

She furiously blinked back a sudden tide of tears that sprang into her eyes as she managed to tear her gaze away, unable to hide the ugly fact that Pansy was his official girlfriend, and that it was their right to do so—But if she'd done so a few moments later, she could've seen Draco pushing her away disgustedly. But no, Fate had her little ways. 

Was all they had—whatever it was—a game to him? 

__

He'd never even said he loved me, she thought, and suddenly, her world came crashing down around her. Pansy was his girlfriend; she was not. Did she even have a right to get angry at him? 

__

Maybe it's all an act, she thought to herself, trying to numb the sudden sharp pain that rose within her. And suddenly, she didn't feel like eating anymore, the tuna sandwich she'd eaten feeling like lead in her stomach. 

__

Pansy's kissing Draco. The very thought was hell. _Pansy's kissing Draco._

She slumped back, feeling as if she'd just had an iron fist through her gut. Harry looked at her, concerned. "Are you all right, Dru?" 

She was silent for a long while, then she seemed to come to, grabbing her coat. It was too painful to stay here any longer. "I need to get out of here, Harry," her voice was strangely thin, and she looked to be on the verge of breaking down in tears, but she held it in. She held everything in, no matter how stupid she felt now, and without waiting for Harry, she ran for the door, eager to put lots of space between her and the place. 

Draco had wanted to see her here, but instead, he came to make out with Pansy Parkinson for all the world to see. 

And despite being only two tables away, Draco did not see a thing. 

***

Draco glared at Pansy, feeling suitably peeved. She'd grabbed him suddenly when he was back with the drinks—nearly knocking them over—and clamped her lips onto his. At first, he was too shocked to respond, then he fought against her almost-desperate grip, pushing her roughly back into her chair. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Parkinson?" he snapped, irritated. This was a public place, for Heaven's sake!

"I just wanted a kiss, Drakie," she pouted prettily. "Don't be so mean. And besides, maybe you should know something." Her smile grew wider and turned cold. "Your sweetheart had just run off with Potty after our make-out session." 

"Swee—"_She knows,_he realized. Pansy knew. His eyes narrowed. She'd known all along, and that earlier kiss was only to put Drusilla off. So Drusilla was here. 

__

Oh, fuck. 

He glared at the bitch sitting insolently before him, batting her eyelashes innocently. "Don't look at me like that, Drakie." 

"You fucking bitch," he spat, getting to his feet once more, cold fury in his winter gray eyes as horrible dread rose in his stomach. "You made it look like we were making out." _With Drusilla watching every moment of it._

She preened, obviously very pleased with herself. "Aren't I smart?" 

Draco's fingers itched for his wand. He was just about to kill her; he didn't give a damn whether performing the killing curse would land him in Azkaban or not. He just wanted to get rid of this irritating slut once and for all.

She smiled coldly once more, leaning forward. "You're going to have to be nice to me in the future, darling. If I'm unhappy, I just might let slip that you're seeing Drusilla. And you might just see your pretty little girlfriend's face being cut in so many little pieces." Her tone was deliberately innocent, and it grated on his nerves. But once he heard the threat on Drusilla's life, everything seemed to freeze up. 

"Hurt a single hair on her head and I will kill you." 

"Oh, will you?" 

Draco leaned backward casually, his face set in a sneering smile, although inside he was furious. Furious that this stupid bitch would go so far as to endanger Drusilla's life and to blackmail him with it. 

No one ever blackmailed Malfoys. 

"Don't forget, Pansy." He said evenly, matching her stare with one of his deadliest ones. It satisfied him that he saw of flicker of apprehension in her own eyes now. Stupid cow never knew how to properly blackmail anyone before. "I'm a Malfoy. Even without the old man around, most people don't go all out of their way to cross me. They know what I can do."

"You won't do it to me," she said confidently. "You can't. Not when Dumbledore's around." 

This time, he laughed out loud. "Tsk tsk, Pansy. You're a Slytherin. You should know me better than that. Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, you know I can make life very, very difficult for you in Hogwarts, and no one will know it's me. No one will believe you." His voice was smooth, but there was an underlying knife of danger beneath his words. Pansy, for a moment, began to understand why the name Malfoy was the most feared in the wizarding circles.

Her face darkened, she was definitely not going to let her fear show. _Show your belly and they'll kick you around like a dog,_ was a well used phrase, and all too astute. "You think so, Drakie?" 

"I don't think so, love." He drawled, getting to his feet. When he next spoke, it was with deadly calm. "I _know_ so. If I find Drusilla hurt in any way, you and your family will die a most undesirable death. You know full well that I can make the entire thing look like an accident, too." 

"You don't mean it." She was grasping at straws, knowing full well that if Draco Malfoy had wanted someone dead, they would, without fail, be, in the shortest time imaginable. _I should've gotten a better foothold before threatening him!_ She thought furiously. _Now it'll never work._ It did not take a genius to see that her trump card was lost. And with that gained a new knowledge, the cold fact of what Draco Malfoy was really capable of. 

"Don't I?" he shot her a condescending smirk, full of confidence and derision at the same time. "I've always thought you were dumb, Parkinson. I just never knew _how _dumb."

He threw the coins onto the table carelessly then swept out of the place without so much as a backward glance. 

***


	7. Bloody Hell, Why Is Everything So Soddin...

Greetings, my dearies! It's been a long time, eh? Well, here's the next part of the story, enjoy! Many thanks to my reviewers, especially** shadowofadoubt72 **and **Astronema**! Wanted to tell you that without you, this story would've been taken down, no questions asked. 

Well, once again, this story was written with you two in mind J And yeah, Harry will have a good ending. 

Pwomise. 

Drusilla was furious. More than furious, actually, because if she'd ever stopped to analyse the sudden wave of emotions that swept through her with the force of a tidal wave, the feeling of betrayal and helplessness was more overpowering than fury. But then again, she decided that she didn't want to think about it anymore. It was like a scene out of a Muggle horror movie. Well, hers, anyway. To see the boy she loved swallowing another girl's tonsils in front of the entire world. 

And she, unable to do a single damned thing about it. Not a thing. 

After all, she wasn't his girlfriend. What they had together was lust. And that did not constitute as grounds for a relationship. She loved him, well, at least she thought she did, but what mattered was whether he loved her back or not. But even as she considered it, absurdity came to mind. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin? Ironies of ironies. Her friends would surely die of shock if they found out. 

Harry said nothing as they entered the Great Hall. They were just in time for dinner, and many of the students who had gone to Hogsmeade had returned, chatting gaily among themselves and comparing little trinkets they'd bought at respective shops earlier. He glanced again at the silent girl beside him, and saw that despite her expressionless features, something unreadable and intense was obvious in her eyes. Not for the first time, he wondered at the change that came over her so suddenly. She'd fled out of the Three Broomsticks as fast as her legs could carry her, and he could have sworn that he saw her wiping a stray tear from her eye. Harry was dying to ask her what was wrong, and what happened to change her demeanor so drastically, but thought better of it upon reflection. It was better to not pry when Drusilla was clearly already not in a good mood; he could always ask her later when she was feeling better. 

"Come on, I see Ron and Hermione," Harry spoke, and headed towards the pair. Hermione was once again buried in her books, while Ron was gleefully looking through his bag of purchases. Drusilla followed him soundlessly. 

"Hi, you two. About time already." Ron flashed them a smile as Hermione simply nodded a greeting to the two of them before going back to her book. "Want to see what I got?" 

Drusilla stared at her plate, not saying anything. Sensing something was wrong, Ron looked to Harry quizzically, and the latter shrugged, raising his eyebrows. 

"Are you quite all right, Dru?" he ventured. "You look a little pale." 

"I'm fine." 

Harry shot him a warning glance, and he wisely left her alone after that. After that, the two boys had engrossed themselves in their purchases, and it was just then that Drusilla realized she'd left her things back at the Three Broomsticks! She'd been so upset that she'd clean forgotten about them until now. With a mental groan, she noted that fifteen Galleons of things she'd bought—some basic necessities, too—were gone. And that blackened her mood further. It seemed like when bad luck arrived, it arrived in an army.

But she was pulled out of her bleak thoughts when she heard Hermione's sudden outburst. 

"Can't you two keep the peace and quiet for a while?! Shut up about the stupid Cannons already!!" she almost screeched, and Drusilla realized that Harry and Ron had been engaged in a very animated discussion about Quidditch and the Chudley Cannons. Obviously, their discussion had grated her nerves, and even Drusilla knew how to stay out of Hermione's way when she was studying in the Great Hall, a sure sign of desperation since she normally did her studying in the library or the Common Room. _Woe to anyone who pisses her off here._

Looking up, momentarily distracted, she watched as Ron's face flushed scarlet. Hermione had never directly insulted his favorite Quidditch team before, and he was shocked and appalled. 

"'Mione, what in the blazes are you saying?!" 

"I'm saying that you can take your argument somewhere ELSE! Can't you see that I'm studying? I've had enough of this rubbish!" By now, most of the Gryffindors were already glancing curiously in their direction, wondering what the sudden outburst was all about. Hermione looked seriously close to breaking down, while Ron simply looked angry. No one had ever insulted his beloved team before, much less Hermione, his own girlfriend. 

"They are NOT rubbish, Hermione! Just because you're—" 

"Well, they are, to me! You can shove those stupid teams where they belong! I've bloody had enough of you going on and on about them!" With that, she grabbed her books and fled out of the Hall. Drusilla stared after her, then at Ron, whose face was still flushed with angry bewilderment. 

"WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!?" Ron bellowed at the spectators. 

The Gryffindors, and the other tables in general, began looking away and going back to their own conversations after awhile, albeit soft snickers could be heard at the Slytherin table.

__

Never thought I'd see the day where there'd be trouble in Rosy Love land. Drusilla thought, returning to her food. But then again, the path to true love isn't always smooth and all that. She was a living example. 

Already she could hear Harry speaking to him in low tones, most likely asking him to give Hermione some space and leave her alone. Or something. She wasn't too interested in that fight at the moment. 

Suddenly the bite of pudding she had put in her mouth tasted like cardboard, and she had an urge to go and visit Hagrid. For some reason or another, being around Hagrid and his crazy pet-monsters while she was troubled seemed to have a soothing effect on her. Maybe it was because she was the only one beside the friendly half-giant that his pets really loved. As usual, her affinity with animals was an Elven thing. 

Rising from her seat, she flashed a faint smile at Harry before heading for the doors. Maybe being with Buckbeak today would do her good. 

***

It was cold outside, and the sun had already set. Regretting that she didn't wear warmer clothes, she trotted quickly towards the familiar hut. Her heart sank a little when she realized that Hagrid wasn't in, but felt happy again when she saw Buckbeak moving around behind the small house; he'd gotten too big to be let inside, apparently. 

The giant animal saw her approaching, and tossed its head in approval, snorting its welcome. He was always glad to see the Elf-girl. 

Drusilla made her way to him and stroked its strong neck, offering it the apple she'd snitched from the table earlier. Buckbeak crunched into it enthusiastically and nuzzled her when he swallowed it. 

Drusilla stroked the beast lovingly as it moved closer against her, sensing her chill. "How are you, melamin?" she whispered softly. "Ta'an coiasira amin elee lle. Lle an ten'amin?" It's been a long time since I've seen you. Do you miss me? 

Buckbeak snorted again and made a curious growling sound at the back of his throat. Drusilla smiled; it meant that he was pleased. She stroked its neck slowly, sighing as she sat down. Buckbeak settled down beside her, realizing that his friend was troubled. He snorted again, and Drusilla understood what it meant. 

"Uma, mela. Amin rashwe adome, aminirma coiasira'ereb." Yes, love. I'm troubled tonight, I need some time away from everyone. 

It was true. Maybe all she needed was some time to think. Hugging her knees close to her chest, she leaned against the Hippogriff beside her and sighed once more, looking up. It was a surprisingly clear night, and the stars twinkled overhead beautifully like diamonds against black velvet. They seemed so peaceful and so high up there, and for a moment, she didn't feel so alone. 

"Tira tingilinde, mela? Ronea vanima'adome." See the stars, love? They're beautiful tonight. 

The Hippogriff, bored and annoyed by the fact that she hadn't paid as much attention to him as she should, tugged peevishly on her robes and harrumphed. "Mani na taa?" What is it?

He glared at her and snorted once more, and she got the message. She giggled and rubbed his snout before laying a soft kiss on it. If there was one animal who could wholly take her mind off things, it was the bark-worse-than-his-bite Hippogriff. "Silly Beaky," she laughed softly, then wound her arms around the giant creature in a bid to hug it. Strange how Buckbeak only allowed her and Hagrid to embrace him so. "Lle sinta amin mela lle." You know I love you. 

It was then that she remembered an Elven song, sung to her as a lullaby all too long ago when she was just a child. An very beautiful Elf who had tried to take her away from her evil mother to somewhere safe had sung it to her before she had been attacked, ambushed by Orcs. She had sung of stars, and till now, she had still not forgotten the words as they flowed back to her once more. 

__

O mor henion i dhu

Ely siriar, el sila

Tiro! El eria e mor

I 'lir en el luitha uren

Ai! Aniron…

Buckbeak grunted softly next to her, enchanted by the song, too, as the song washed over them, calm and soothing in its wonders. And for the time being, she was happy, lost in her own world of dreams and misty beauty.

***

It was already almost nine when she finally ventured back into the castle, and by then almost all the students were already in their respective common rooms. The corridors were silent, save for the gentle crackling of the fires that were perched on the walls, throwing shadows about the place. It would almost be eerie if Drusilla paid any attention to where she was going. It was as if coming back to the school brought back memories of Draco kissing Pansy crashing down on her once again. 

__

Well, it's about time I should deal with it, she thought to herself. _The question is, how? I don't even know what I'm going to do, much less say._

"Drusilla." 

The voice was smooth, calm, and measured, and she immediately knew who it was. Her stomach clenching as anger seeped into her once more, she whirled around. Draco Malfoy was leaning against the wall behind her, his face expressionless, but his gray eyes were intense. 

Very intense. 

__

Well, that's it, she thought, her breath catching, despite herself. _He's come to tell me that he prefers Pansy Parkinson, after all._ Instead of dread, though, all she felt was anger. No one ever took advantage of Drusilla Fontaine and walked away unscathed. Not even Draco Malfoy. When she next spoke, she made her voice steely. "Malfoy." She could almost swear that she saw him flinch. But then again, he was a Malfoy. Malfoys weren't really supposed to feel. Were they? _What about that time when Draco looked so vulnerable? It so wasn't an act… _

Telling that annoying little voice to go to hell—she wasn't about to cut Malfoy any more slack, not after what she'd witnessed. Draco KNEW she would be there!—she crossed her arms over her chest as her eyes met with his own. He took a step forward, and she took one back. 

Surprise flashed across slate-gray eyes, but was quickly mastered. Drusilla felt a tinge of hurt; he was back to old Malfoy again. But then again, why should she care? For all she knew, the "new" Malfoy had been an act after all, and this was his true self. 

"I didn't know we regressed to a last name basis, Drusilla." he said smoothly, giving none of his feelings away, although inside—he wasn't ready to admit it to himself yet—he was hurt at her cold attitude. Here he was trying to explain things and the stubborn little chit wasn't making things easier for him. 

__

How would you like it if you saw her making out with Potter in the Three Broomsticks? A snide voice asked him. _You'd react even worse than her. _

With a shock, he realized that it was somewhat true, to say the least. For the millionth time, Draco regretted not offing Parkinson when he had the chance. It was all her bloody fault he was in this mess.

"This is the Gryffindor corridor, Malfoy." She said coldly, her eyes, now an icy sapphire, seemed to bore through him. "I'd suggest you leave. Now." 

"No." he met her gaze straight on. Despite herself, he could see that she was very upset about everything. 

"Fine." She spun on her heel to walk away. She didn't need this. Not now. _Not ever._ _But then again, people in Hell want ice water too, doesn't mean they're gonna get it. _

But before she knew what was happening, she was already off balance and collapsing roughly against his broad chest. The pleasant smell of his cologne attacked her senses almost immediately, bringing back memories of when he was kissing her. Angered at the sudden invasion of her personal space, she fought against him, but Draco was strong. 

His arms were wrapped around her like iron vices, pressing her tightly against his hard body, so much so that she couldn't breathe. "Let go of me!" She pushed against him again, determined not to fall under his spell once more. She had already done so more than once, and she hated herself for it. Maybe after a while she'd fall for him all over again, but not now. Her pride would not allow herself to.

"Not until you hear me out." 

"What's there to hear?" She snapped, almost going breathless at the lack of oxygen. "You kissed her! And I can't breathe, let go of me!"

He relaxed his grip on her, but did not release her totally. She glared up at him, trying valiantly not to think about how exquisite he looked up close. "What part of 'let go of me' do you not understand?!" 

He looked down at her, an amused light in his slate gray eyes. "I distinctly remember saying 'Not until you hear me out'. I only relaxed so you don't suffocate." He drawled. Anger clenched in her stomach. How dare he still stay so cool after what he'd done to her?

"You've got five minutes." 

His lips curled into a smirk. It was actually fun toying with her, and she was so particularly lovely when fire blazed in her eyes. It made him wonder what that fire of passion could really do when he actually ravished her. A Malfoy would always be a Malfoy, after all. He had to keep up his image; already he knew that he was vulnerable by coming specially to see her and make things clear, and he didn't want her to know that she had a hold on him. "Did anyone tell you how beautiful you look when you're furious?" 

"Did I say five minutes? I meant five seconds." She looked even more furious. "Now get your hands off me or I'll scream." 

His arms locked around her, and he looked down at her, the smile fading. "Listen to me, Dru. She's my girlfriend." 

At those damnable words, she burst out of his grasp and shoved him away with a burst of energy she never knew she possessed, fire roaring in her ears. He came here just to tell her that? "Is that what you fucking want to tell me?!" Her voice rose shrilly, and in that moment, she didn't care who heard her. This bastard made out with her and had the fucking guts to tell her that Pansy was his girlfriend?! 

"Will you keep it down?" his eyes were narrowed. "Do you want anyone else to know?" 

"I don't care," she snapped angrily. How dare he use her that way! Shame and betrayal rose within her. To think that she actually trusted him, and he could tell her that without batting an eyelid? "I've heard enough." 

"Not bloody enough!" he lost it at once and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her roughly. Dammit, why couldn't she give him a chance to explain himself?

"Then tell me, Draco," her gaze was openly challenging now. "Do you love me? Have you ever loved me?" 

He stood stock still, stunned at the question. It was one question he had always asked himself, and had always deemed the answer unspeakable, simply because something like that _never_ happened to him. It had never happened to a Malfoy before. "What?" 

"Do you love me?" she repeated herself, searching his eyes for the answer. 

The word 'yes' died on his lips. A Malfoy had never, ever said "I love you" and meant it, because those three words were always lies. He had told enough girls that to detest that simple phrase, and here Drusilla was, needing to hear those words. The words he could never give her, because he was afraid that once he said it, she would be just like them, a nameless, faceless entity that he'd used and thrown away. No, he couldn't demean her, bring her down to the level of the sluts who'd bedded him. No, she was worth so much more than that to him…

Apparently, she misread his reaction, and it killed him to see the pain and betrayal on her beautiful face. _Say it, dammit! _He wanted to force himself to speak, but nothing came out. Nothing would. 

Her heart shattering upon his silence, she fought once more to twist out of his grasp, her eyes lidded and closed off from him. "Let me go, Draco. I've had enough of this." 

"Never. Dammit, Dru, I have to tell you—"

That punch came out from nowhere. Pain exploded in his jaw, sending his face flying to the left. She took a few steps away from him, furious. Apparently, she had found the leverage to punch him. "Touch me, Malfoy, and that hand will never touch anything else again. And you can keep those stupid white roses, they make me sick."

Someone could have knocked Draco over with a feather. _What? _He blinked, confused. But already he could see Drusilla fleeing down the hallway, and all he could say was, "What white roses?"

***

Pansy was reclining luxuriantly on her favorite armchair in front of the fire in the Slytherin Common Room when Draco entered, in a very foul mood. Already jealousy was overcrowding his senses. He couldn't help but mull over who the stupid git was who sent her roses. Did the sod sent her one? One dozen? 

__

Definitely more than one, he decided. _She said 'roses'. _But who could it possibly be? 

His eyes narrowed as his brain already found the answer. _Potter,_ he thought, his fists clenched under his cloak. _You stinking git. _

Absently, his hand flew to his jaw, which was still throbbing. By Merlin, that girl could pack a punch. Who knew? 

"You little girlfriend did that to you?" Pansy's seductive voice wafted over to him. She was dressed in a barely-there nightdress, exposing all her generous curves. When Draco's eyes met with her, his gaze was nothing short of murderous. 

"This is none of your business, Parkinson." 

"You know, darling," she started to get up, sashaying towards him. "You've still got me." 

His eyes were icy cold. "I don't want to have a dead fish for company, thank you." 

Her eyes shifted into a molten glare. "You know I can make life very difficult for you." 

He looked at her derisively and chuckled. "Who do you honestly think you are?"

"You know I can." She refused to back down. 

He smiled, a predator's smirk. "Can you, Parkinson? Haven't you learnt anything at all?" 

"You're all talk," she sneered. "All bullshit, and you know it." 

"Trust me, you don't want to see me when I act," his voice was silkily menacing, but Pansy involuntarily started back a little as he grabbed her chin in his hand and lowered his face to hers. "I've learnt a lot from my bastard father. When I bury someone, they _stay_ buried. Mess with me and Drusilla and you will be tasting my wrath. I will promise you this." 

With that, he pushed her roughly away, sending her stumbling back into her armchair as he swept away from the room, eager to be alone. 

***

__

Bloody hell, Drusilla, was all he thought as he slammed the door to his room. _Why won't you fucking listen? _

His frustration had already reached the boiling point and was ready to spill over. She'd hit him before he could fully explain himself, explain that Pansy Parkinson was, in all essences, still officially his girlfriend until he dumped her first thing tomorrow, and he had seriously not wanted Pansy to know that there was anything between him and Drusilla. And bloody hell, he'd forgotten that she was going to be at the Three Broomsticks at the same time!

__

Come and lay right on my bed, sit and drink some wine

I'll try not to make you cry

And if you get inside my head, then you'd understand

Then you'd understand me

But damn his Malfoy pride, he'd always withheld what he really meant to say, and it'd made things worse. All he had wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her senseless, then, in his own way, reassure her that the only person he'd ever love was her…

__

Wait a minute, he thought, stiffening. _The only person I'd ever love?_ Malfoys didn't love; they didn't have the capacity to. Love was something a Slytherin never did, much less a Malfoy. Because Love took into account the other party's feelings, something that he had always found appalling, and put it before self. How could he even manage to do something like that? He'd had years of people falling all over themselves to try to please him in every way possible, and didn't even have to lift a finger to try to change what other people thought of him. He simply didn't care. Love cared. 

Love was one thing his father had taught him expressly not to do. Malfoys did not love. They took, they schemed, they pillaged, burned, killed, to get what they wanted. 

__

I see, I want, I take, I have, I forget was something that was ingrained in him from the beginning, and he had already seen it as a way of life. But why, _why _of all people did Drusilla always managed to worm her way into his heart, under his skin, and blind him so that he only had eyes for her? Why was it that everything that had once seemed impossible for him happened when he was with her? Why couldn't he let her go and push her out of his thoughts for once? 

__

Why I've felt so alone, why I kept myself from love

And you became my favorite drug

So let me take you right now and swallow you down

I need you inside

Frustrated with himself, he slammed a hand against the wall. He'd been through this already, and seriously, it was proving to be one hell of a headache. Apparently, his sodding heart had a mind of its own and did not even bother to take into account what his mind seemed to be yelling at him. 

He smiled bitterly. Why did he even bother, anyway? She refused to listen to him at all _and _then had the gall to punch him. He could do without crazed women like that. 

__

But then again, Drusilla Fontaine isn't any other woman, is she? A voice whispered in his mind. _Is she? _

Damn, what was wrong with him? Why was he even willingly sucked into the maelstrom of trouble and headache he was very sure Drusilla would cause? What drew him to her, time and again? Why did he even _care_? He had his fun with her, however short, and by all means, it was supposed to be over, but…

__

Do you think that this is right, or is it really wrong

I know that this is what we've been wanting

And all this burning in my soul, it fills up to my throat

It fills up till my heart is breaking

Now we can both learn

Somehow, you'll see it's all we have

Love, it keeps us together

And I need love

But why was he even more obsessed with her now, more than ever? Why had he had the unpleasant sensation of ripping pain when she fled away from him? 

It all bored down to down answer, an answer he was not ready—no, didn't want to— accept. No, not at all. 

The answer was _Love_. 

He loved her. 

It wasn't a simple game anymore. He had known that he couldn't simply extricate himself from her, but had held on to the confidence that somehow, he just _would,_ but now, that confidence was dashed. The realization that he loved her had been hovering just out of reach for days now, but now, in the silence and coldness of his room, it was when that simple fact truly crashed down on him. 

__

What have I gotten myself into? 

__

When I wake up without you, knowing you're not there

I'm only feeling half as good

Well, I'm gonna find a way

To wrap you in my arms, you make me feel alive.

***

That was it, she could sleep, try as she might. 

After the first hour of tossing and turning, and the occasional sting of her knuckles—damn, it hurt! Was Draco's face made of steel?—it was blatantly obvious that she would not find peace tonight. Throwing her covers off peevishly, she swung her legs over her bed and stuffed her feet into downy rabbit slippers. _Might as well go to the Common Room, _she thought, heading out of the door. Staying in the room for one minute more would make her scream, since her damnable conscience was so busy nagging at her about that punch. The phrase 'He deserved it' was already long overused. But then again, she was angry, he was using her, and so he had it coming. 

__

It's easier to run

Replacing this pain with something numb

It's so much easier to go

Than face this pain here all alone

But he wanted to say more to me, she thought fleetingly, unable to help her innate curiosity. _I wonder what he was about to say. _She dismissed that thought the next minute. He most likely was going to elaborate on how he enjoyed using her or something. 

__

But what if he wanted to tell me something else? A small voice at the back of her mind asked. _He did say that she kissed him, after all. _

Something has been taken from deep inside of me

A secret I've kept locked away

No one can ever see

Wounds so deep they never show

They never go away

As soon as that thought materialized, she rolled her eyes and scoffed at her own naivete. _I seriously need to get a grip. _She thought to herself, frustrated at her inability to grasp the cold, hard fact that no matter how she tried, she simply couldn't bring herself to _not_ care about him. 

Not to love him.

__

Sometimes I think of letting go

And never looking back

And never moving forward so there would never be a past

Just washing it aside

All of the helplessness inside

Pretending I don't feel misplaced

Yes, she hated him now, but she loved him more. It was as if her bloody heart had a mind of its own. All in all, it was very irritating. What the hell was wrong with her? 

__

If I could change I would

Take back the pain I would

Retrace every wrong move I made I would

If I could stand up and take the blame I would

If I could take all the shame to the grave I would

Bringing back these memories I wish I didn't have

It's so much simpler than change

It's easier to run

Replacing this pain with something numb

It's so much easier to go

Than face this pain all alone

Padding towards the warmth of the Gryffindor Common Room, she was happy to see that the fire was still blazing, and surprised to see an all-too-familiar figure hunched in an armchair in front of her, his head bent over his homework, and the quick movements of his quill. She smiled, already feeling her heart warm up. Everything was always all right when Harry was around, no matter how bad things got. 

"Harry?" she called softly. 

He jumped in his seat and looked up at her, frowning slightly. "Dru? What are you doing up?" 

She gave him a small smile as she sank into the soft armchair opposite his own. "Can't sleep." 

He waited expectantly for the explanation, but none came, and he inclined his head slightly with a smile, respecting her privacy. "Do you want me to head down to the kitchens to get some warm milk for you?" 

"No, it's quite all right." She replied, touched by his concern. "I don't like milk much." She glanced at the parchments on his lap. "What homework are you rushing for?" 

"McGonagall's Transfiguration essay," 

She frowned. "But it's not due until two weeks later." She suddenly looked horrified. "She moved the date forward?" 

"Relax, Dru." He grinned, amused. "I just wanted to get a headstart on this since I can't sleep tonight." 

"Wow, being around Hermione is definitely rubbing off on you." 

"Hey, I've got nothing to do. Might as well start on it." 

"True," she conceded, as she slouched deeper in her seat, propping her feet on the table before her. "Well, go ahead, don't let me disturb you." She angled her feet so that it seemed like the fuzzy bunnies at the end of her slippers were conversing with each other. 

Harry looked at her intently, seemingly able to see through her. She looked at him quizzically. "What?" 

"Do you need someone to talk to?" he started to put his work away. "Because if you wanted, I could—" 

Talk was the very last thing she felt like doing. Besides, what could she probably tell him? That she had a few illicit rendezvous sessions with one Draco Malfoy, his biggest nemesis in the whole of Hogwarts? She waved a hand. "No, it's okay. I just need the quiet. You can just continue on your work, I'll be fine."

He looked doubtful, but did what she said, and within a few seconds, he was already deeply engrossed in his work. Snuggling into the comfortable chair and delighting in the warmth of the crackling fire, she found her gaze wandering to the dark-haired boy just opposite her, and she was struck by how handsome she was. Sure, she knew all along that Harry Potter was a very handsome boy, but had never really _noticed_. Actually, it was more borne along by the fact that the only things Draco had in common with Harry was that they were both Seekers for their teams and that they were tall, and that was the end of it. Ironically, the dark-haired Harry was a very nice guy, while the platinum blonde angelic Draco was the entire opposite. 

Black against silver-white. 

Good against evil. 

She studied his sparkling green eyes closely. _Such a contrast. Green against silver… Honest against closed off._

Why did I like Draco? She found herself wondering. _What made me like him? What drew me to him? _These were things she had no answers to, and it annoyed her immensely. Of all people, why someone as cold and callous as Draco Malfoy? She should've known that such a thing would happen, should've seen it coming, but she'd stupidly played along with his games. 

The one he really loved was still Pansy. 

But she was broken out of her thoughts when she realized that Harry was looking at her, Not staring, just looking. In the firelight, the shadows that danced across his face made him look older, wiser, and the way his eyes twinkled with something, something familiar… Despite herself, her heart skipped a beat. Why hadn't she seen it before? He was handsome, as handsome as Draco. Almost, anyway. And he was coming closer, his eyes an intense green. With a jolt, she realized what was going to happen. He was going to kiss her! To her surprise, a part of her really wanted it, but the larger part, the one with the common sense, screamed at her to back away. 

Her feelings, her real feelings for Harry were still very unclear even now, but she knew, subconsciously, that they seemed to be more than friends, and seriously, she did not want to get into that matter and complicate things further; just one issue with Draco Malfoy was enough. She wanted to keep his friendship, and subconsciously knew that once his lips met hers, they would not be friends anymore. 

They would never be just friends anymore if that happened, and she was going to stop that. She cherished him too much to allow either of them to make what looked like a blatant mistake. And besides, if he was to kiss anyone, it should be Ginny Weasley, no one else. 

Following that, she backed away quickly, and that moment was over. Drusilla forced a smile and pointed to his work, feeling bad for the look of disappointment that crossed his eyes. "If you're going to stare at me all night, you're never gonna finish this." 

"Oh. Right." He lowered his head to his work. 

Drusilla opened her mouth to say something, anything, to get rid of the awkwardness that had popped up between them, but couldn't. What exactly, could she say? 

Sighing softly and wondering what she could have gotten herself into, she pulled her legs up against her and snuggled into the warm and cosy armchair. Maybe for now, words were not needed.

****

__

When I pretend 

Everything is what I want it to be

I look exactly like what you had always

Wanted to see

When I pretend

I can forget about the criminal I am

Stealing second after second just 'cause I know I can

What was I thinking? Harry mentally berated himself, ducking his head lower so she didn't notice how red his face had become. He'd almost given in to the temptation to kiss her! He could almost see the fear in her eyes when he lowered himself down, and he felt nothing short of horrible. Why was she so afraid of him? He wasn't going to bite her or anything. It was just that she looked so beautiful then, her eyes taking on a faraway look, twinkling and dancing with the flames in the hearth. Her skin was luminous as usual, and her lips was set in the slightest of frowns, a new look he'd never really seen before. She looked unhappy, and suddenly, more than ever, he had wanted to cheer her up, and felt an overwhelming urge to beat away whatever it was that made her sad. And genuinely, for one moment, he couldn't help himself. 

__

But I can't pretend this is the way it will stay

I'm just trying to bend the truth

I can't pretend I'm who you want me to be

So I'm lying my way from you

No, no turning back now

I wanna be pushed aside

So let me go

No, no turning back now

Anywhere on my own

The combined feelings of the past few months was just too much for him. He loved her so, and yet she kept keeping him at a discreet distance, and that gentle rebuttal had gone straight through his heart. A sense of helplessness washed over him once more, as well as the all-too-familiar feeling of heartbreak. What could he possibly do to get her to love him in return? 

__

'Cause I can see, the very worst part of you is me

But the more I push

The more I'm pulling away 'cause I'm lying my way from you

This isn't what I wanted to be

I never thought what I said would have you running from me

Like this

"It'd be simpler if I could just hate him. I think he wanted me to. I think it made it easier to be the bad guy of the story," her words from the other day drifted back to him, and he couldn't help but wonder, was she still stuck on whoever it was? And the most important thing was, who, exactly, was she in love with? Why hadn't she seen it fit to tell either of them? A niggling suspicion rose in the back of his mind, but he pushed it away quickly, deeming it ultimately impossible. She would never go out with any Slytherin. They hated her too much. Malfoy was a prime example, having wasted no opportunity to hurt and taunt her as much as possible, so something as ludicrous as that would not happen. But then again, who _was_ it? Maybe he should ask her. 

"Drusilla," he began, before he could lose his nerve. He had to know. If nothing, she owed him this much. "Who—" he stopped mid-sentence as he glanced at her, his morbid curiosity taken over by a moment of genuine affection. She was fast asleep, looking adorable in her overlarge muggle pajamas with a cartoon character called "Spongebob Squarepants" all over it and a white sleeveless top, with her fuzzy bunny slippers pulled up beside her. 

Despite himself, he smiled slightly, then stood up, shrugging off the duvet he had wrapped around himself. _Wouldn't do to have her catch a cold,_ he mused as he carefully draped it around her, ensuring that she was warm. Fighting off a slight chill, he settled himself closer to the fire and continued his work. Surely, this was a conversation meant for another day. 

***

There was darkness, but out of it, she seemed to feel a gentle, lingering sadness, as if the dregs of pain were already mostly washed away, yet still remained sharp in memory. A voice followed, seeping through her heart, binding her to these words that seemed to be branded into her mind. In her minds' eye, she could see shades of gray, hear a rumble of laughter, a shout of anger, and finally, the bright light that seemed to sear through her eyelids… 

__

When evening in the Shire was gray

his footsteps on the hill were heard;

before the dawn he went away

on journey long without a word.

From Wilderland to Western Shore,

from northern waste to southern hill,

through dragon lair and hidden door

and darkling woods he walked at will

With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men,

with mortal and immortal folk,

with bird on bough and beast in den,

in their own secret tongues he spoke.

A deadly sword, a healing hand,

a back that bent beneath its load;

a trumpet-voice, a burning brand,

a weary pilgrim on the road.

A lord of wisdom throned he sat 

swift in anger, quick to laugh;

an old man in a battered hat,

who leaned upon a thorny staff

He stood upon the bridge alone

and Fire and Shadow both defied;

his staff was broken on the stone,

in Khazad-dum his wisdom died. 

It was morning when Drusilla's eyes fluttered open; sunshine was streaming in through her windows, and she blinked for a few moments, feeling disoriented. Hadn't she fallen asleep in the armchair in the common room last night? So how come she was still sleeping in her own room? 

Looking down, she noticed that she still had Harry's duvet wrapped around her, and she realized what had happened. He had obviously brought her to her room. When, she didn't know, but was grateful to him all the same. 

__

He tried to kiss me last night, she remembered with a jolt. _And I almost let him_. 

Stifling a sigh at the rotten timing of this thought, she shook her head and threw her covers off. It most likely was a misunderstanding on his part, nothing more. She made her way to the bathroom and looked at herself intently in the mirror, remembering the sad words from the dream—no, it was most likely a snippet from Middle-Earth again—lately, she hadn't had any intense visions, and for that she was grateful, since most of the times, the visions were painful and emotionally draining. She blinked when she looked closer and realized that she had indeed been crying, dried silver tracks marking their way down her cheeks. 

Shaking her head, she splashed ice-cold water on herself. Today was a Sunday, but for once, she wished that she could have lessons instead of heading for the Quidditch pitch to note the progress of the Gryffindors later; Wood was clearly expecting her there, since he'd taken over Madam Hooch as Quidditch referee and had a very strong partiality to his own team. He'd had asked her to keep track of the progress for the Quidditch team and offered to give her an extra credit for it, which she gladly took since she totally bombed at the sport and needed all the credits she could get. Well, at least that would take her mind off subjects she really didn't want to dwell on just yet. 

***

Making her way to the stands of the deserted Quidditch pitch, she was surprised to find Ginny sitting there, watching as the players zoomed and weaved in and out of each other, the Quidditch balls flying around and around. Wood was on the ground, yelling up at them and pacing, not looking very pleased. 

Relieved that she could get company at last—Hermione and Ron were having a making up session somewhere—she sat next to the redhead. She'd grown a lot since the last few years and had blossomed into a true beauty, with an innocent sensitivity that sent guys flocking to her in droves, not to mention that she had had a to-die-for body. But she still hung faithfully on to her crush on Harry Potter, refusing to even look at any other boy. And in her book, that was indeed true love. 

__

Honestly, Drusilla thought in exasperation. _What had Harry been thinking? Is he blind or something? Hell, if I'd been a guy, I'd go for her at once, no questions asked. _

"Hey, Drusilla." Ginny spotted her and flashed her a friendly smile. 

"Hey yourself," she replied, seating herself beside her and whipping out her notebook and quill, ever-ready to make notes on the formations. "How's lessons?" 

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm in for a detention by Snape next week. All because I had to see Professor McGonagall during his lessons. It's not even my fault." 

"I heard Dean Thomas sent you a bouquet of Mystic Roses last week. Very romantic." she winked. Mystic Roses were beautiful roses which changed color depending on the romantic intentions of the sender, and the last she heard, Dean's roses were a very deep pink, sending titters throughout the female population. Dean was indeed one of the good-looking boys at school. 

Ginny flushed scarlet and ducked her head. "I uh—"

"Oh, I know. You're not interested in him that way." She winked. "Light teasing, there." Her gaze ticked to Harry, who was a scarlet blur in the sky, whooshing around, searching for the Snitch. Her superior eyesight caught it at once, fluttering next to one of the stands. The Snitch seemed to be bouncing around slightly, mocking the Seeker. She hid a smile. 

Ginny followed her gaze and gave an almost inaudible sigh. 

"Don't worry, Gin." Drusilla said finally, interpreting her expression. "He'll notice you, one day." 

"No, he won't." She said softly after a long moment, before she trained her light green eyes on her. She looked very sad and very disappointed. "Not when you're around him." 

__

Me? Drusilla blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. "Who, me?" 

Her sentence was simple. "He likes you." 

"He does?" She echoed, aware that she sounded like a dim child. Harry, like her? That was a statistical impossibility. It was so ridiculous she had to laugh. The kiss yesterday had already been explained away, and even now, she could see no sign that he liked her more than he liked a friend, and maybe Ginny was seeing wrongly, since she had a huge crush on him and all. "Don't be silly, that's impossible." 

She looked serious. "It's not. He told me that himself." 

"Hah, he told you he liked me?" she asked, disbelieving. "He would've told you he liked Hermione, too!" 

Ginny looked momentarily confused. "He would?"

"Of course. They're good friends, too. Good friends kind of have to like each other." Drusilla heaved a mental sigh of relief. She'd heard wrongly, that was all. 

"No, Dru. He told me he was in love with you." 

Her chuckle died on her throat, which immediately went dry. "Ha-what?" 

"You didn't know?" Ginny looked more surprised than she was, if it ever was possible. 

"That's not possible, really." She shook her head, still slightly amused. He was one of her best friends, for Merlin's sake! Friends never fell in love with friends; it was practically a rule. 

"Why not?" 

"Why not? He's my best friend. He's seen me at my worst." She reasoned. "No one would find my worst a turn-on." Drusilla put a hand on Ginny's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, he'll notice you. Trust me. And besides, he was most likely having you on. A joke or something." 

The petite redhead nodded slightly, and glanced over at Harry once more, comforted, and not for the first time, filled with hope. 


End file.
